This Aint No Love Song
by Books In the Blood
Summary: Shortly after John and Mary get married Sherlock has a drug overdose and Mary insists that she and John move into 221B to take care of him. John is reluctant but agrees to stay temporarily to help Sherlock get better. What he didn't count on was that living with Sherlock is far from temporary and far from platonic as Mary is determined to bring all three of them together.
1. Chapter 1

_It was the perfect day; that's how Sherlock should have known it wasn't real. He never had perfect days and certainly not anymore. But…..the subconscious is a strange thing._

 _They were in the park; it was spring and bright and warm. The gentle breeze blew his hair around as he swung his arms at his sides, hands intertwined with other hands; one soft and smooth the other rough and permanently calloused in places._

 _He felt smaller than both of them, stuck in the middle like a JohnSherlockMary sandwich; it didn't make sense since he was fall taller than both of them. But it felt good…_

 _Sherlock's pace was too quick and he felt the two hands tug him back._

 _"_ _Not without us, sweet" Mary said, giving him a dotting smile as she pulled him back. "How are we to keep you safe if you leave us behind?"_

 _"_ _It's our job to keep you safe" John said, giving his hand a squeeze. Sherlock had never felt so loved and protected…..so whole. It felt real._

It was both ironic and predictable that he should wake then. The realness of warm hands in his own, arms pressed against his own was immediately wiped away. There was no John and Mary; there was only him.

Sherlock lay in his bed, curled in the middle in a mass of sweaty sheets. His pyjamas clung to him but he couldn't be bothered to care. He stared at the light streaming in through his window, watching motes of dust falling to the ground and tried not to think about the pit opening in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole.

It was just a dream…..a stupid dream at that. He couldn't allow himself to get hung up on it as it didn't even matter. On the whole, his emotions had been much more intolerable since he had returned to London. Mary and John and it was all so confusing to think about…so he didn't.

Eventually, he pulled himself to sit on the edge of the bed only because his bladder was screaming need for the toilet. The needle on his nightstand called out to him; he didn't have anymore. He forced himself to the bathroom and tried not to think about why his throat and eyes were burning so.

He wandered through the flat without purpose, without meaning. He glanced at the postcard on the kitchen table for the hundredth time even though each time he did it felt like a chasm was opening inside his chest, consumed with fire.

Hey, Sherlock!

Hope you're doing well at 221B; wishing you plenty of murders and all those things you like. It's wonderful down here, enjoying every bit of it. Mary's had a touch of morning sickness but not too much. Still can't believe it all; marriage and a baby all in one day! We'll be back on Saturday; hope we can come round? Wish you were here!

John and Mary

Sherlock scowled at the post card, with John's scrawly script on it and the picture of the blue water and white sand beaches. He despised when people said "Wish you were here" when it was quite obvious that they didn't want you there or you would have been there. Whatever…what made them think he wanted to be on their sex holiday anyway?

 **Our plane just landed. Can we come round later?-JW**

Sherlock had ignored the text; he didn't know if he wanted to dignify John's text with a response. Quite sure he didn't, he swallowed down that nagging burning in his throat and walked back to the bathroom for a shower and a change of clothes. Shave, shower, wash, dry, dress….he went through the motions as his phone continued to vibrate.

 **We're all settled in back at home. We'd love to come over and talk to you. We missed you-JW**

 **You alright Sherlock? John's a bit worried you haven't responded back to him. He worries so you know-M**

 **Have to admit I'm a bit worried. I know how you were feeling when you left the wedding-M**

Sherlock sat on the couch and starred at the wall as the sunlight outside the window shifted and began to go down. Mary liked to pretend she knew him, could read him; she didn't know how he felt as he left the wedding. There was no way she could and if she really did, that was worse. That would mean that she knew and didn't care; that was worse. Of course she didn't care.

 **We missed you, Sherlock. We're coming over whether you like it or not- M**

Sherlock rolled his eyes and fell onto the couch, curling into a ball. What a pushy arsehole…couldn't they see he wanted to be left alone? It was quiet as the light disappeared in the flat and Sherlock traced the fresh bruises on his arms.

….

John fell back into the plush comfort of his own bed, the skin on his back only mildly protesting the touch; years in Afghanistan had taught him to be cautious with sun screen though he'd erred slightly on the side of risk because he didn't mind getting a tan. He stretched out, his muscles feelings slightly sore from so much walking. He smiled; there was probably more than one reason really why he was feeling the burn of exertion on certain muscles.

He and Mary had had a great time on their honeymoon. Indulging in every good food they saw, spending endless hours on the beach and in bed…..John hadn't relaxed this much in…well, his entire life. He'd had fun but at the same time he felt relieved in some ways that they were home. Being back at home was good too, though, he didn't relish having to go back to work and responsibilities.

John fished his mobile out of his pocket and checked his phone; Sherlock still hadn't texted him back. He'd sent Sherlock the occasional text while they'd been on holiday but he hadn't wanted to seem too interested in what he was doing; Mary might not like it after all. Who would want their new husband constantly texting their friend on their honeymoon? He'd only sent the smallest points of what he seemed to think were interests. He got only extremely annoyed texts back.

 **The bartender at this hotel really looks like a shifty charcter. Bet you could tell a thing or two about his past that would make people think twice about taking a drink from him.- JW**

 **You're drunk. You realize you spelled character wrong, right? No? Because you're intoxicated.- SH**

 **Get any cases this week? You didn't reply to my text yesterday so I figure you must be working a case- JW**

 **I figure you must be getting quite a lot of sexual activity…..so why don't you just get on with it? You already succeeded in impregnating your new wife so you don't even have to use protection. I know you hate condoms. Congratulations.**

 **Woman just slapped her husband in this restaurant; he actually slapped her back. They called the police but by the time they got here they were snogging on the floor between slaps. It's the kind of thing that you'd love to make fun of- JW**

 **You insult my intelligence if you think I care about a mere lover's spat. Shut up and eat your dessert; I imagine you've put on five pounds by now- SH**

John sighed as he scrolled through his texts; well, to be fair he had texted Sherlock a lot. Sherlock's texts were annoyed and filled with insults; if someone didn't know him better they might think he was mad at John. John, knowing him better, knew that his disturbing deductions and personal insults were just part of his personality.

"I texted him and told him we are coming over whether he wants us to or not" Mary said, emerging from the bathroom with a smile on her face. She walked to the bed and leaned down to give him a small kiss on the lips before lying on the bed beside him, propping her head on her hand.

John's face heated slightly at being caught. How Mary did that he couldn't figure; now he had two people in his life who seemed to know entirely too much about him. "Oh, if he doesn't want us over, who cares? I'm tired anyway" John said, trying to sound carefree about it.

John looked away but when he turned his gaze back at Mary, she had her eyebrows raised in a knowing glance. "Why do have such a hard time just admitting that you miss him?" she asked with a laugh in her voice. "I can admit that _I_ missed seeing him."

"I didn't miss him" John insisted on. And really, he hadn't. All of his texts had yielded moderate to extreme insults about everything from his physical appearance to personality. How could he miss someone like that? Sure, he wouldn't have minded seeing him for dinner tonight but he wasn't going to force himself upon someone who obviously didn't want to see him.

"He missed you too, you know" Mary said with a laugh, falling back on the bed so she was staring up at the ceiling with entirely too smug a glance.

John sat up straighter so that he could look at her. "No he didn't…you saw his texts. He's in a bloody horrible mood" John argued.

"Men….."Mary said with a sigh of knowing in the way that could frustrate John to the point that he just had to snog her, both to keep her silent and because it was annoyingly attractive.

"What?" John asked quickly, not wanting to but unable to deny his curiosity any longer.

"You two are so stubborn and what's the point?" Mary asked. "You missed him; you couldn't stop texting him. He missed you; that's plain to see from his texts and his stubbornly ignoring us now. I know you think that that's just the way that he is but it's different. He's irritable because he's missing you."

John felt a burst of something warm and excited in his stomach but he refused to acknowledge it He crossed his arms firmly and tried to feign disinterest. "I don't want to go over there" he said trying to sound more tired than he really was.

"Tough…..we're going over there, Mr. Watson" Mary said with a cheeky grin.

John smiled and turned to face her, half way lying across her. "Oh, so you get to make all the rules now, Mrs. Watson?" he asked playfully.

Mary grinned. "Of course I do" she said, leaning up to give him a long, slow kiss. John's senses of happiness and pleasure, already so keen from the honeymoon perked up.

"Well, I have to at least take a shower before we go over there. I still smell like the ocean" John said as they broke the kiss. He had sand in more places than he cared to count. "Want to join me?"

Mary smiled. "Certainly, Mr. Watson."

….

John felt nerves stirring in his belly as he and Mary walked up the stairs and to the flat that he had for so long called home. Shaking his head and feeling ridiculous, he tried to push the feeling aside. Maybe Mary did have a point; he did miss Sherlock even though it was crazy that he should feel the loss of him after one week's absence.

John had been separated from Sherlock for two terrible years. Sherlock had been everything to John to such an extent that it wasn't healthy. He was his flat mate, his colleague, his friend, the only person who had truly mattered; they had done everything together and when John had watched Sherlock fall off of the roof at St. Bart's, it had nearly killed him. He'd been left a mere shell of his former self; Mary was the only reason he'd not given up on life entirely. She'd come into his life and made him feel things when he was dead inside; she had made him want to live again. Then, Sherlock had blown into his life again like a terrific ghost and all of his old wounds had been reopened. He'd not examined it too closely; he couldn't. If he really allowed himself to feel how betrayed and hurt he was that Sherlock had lied to him and let him mourn for two years then it would send him over the edge. It made him want to kill Sherlock; strangle him with his bare hands and then embrace him. So, he buried deep it inside where it belonged. Since he had come back, they'd settled into an odd reunion; working together occasionally and seeing each other personally often. At times John tried to resist, feeling like he should even though Mary didn't seem to care. But no matter how hard he tried, they were like magnets, being drawn together.

The door of 221b was slightly cracked open; Sherlock was expecting them. He knew better than to think that Mary didn't really mean it when she said that they were coming over. Mary, a few steps ahead of him, knocked on the door a mere second before pushing it open and walking inside. John smiled; no beating around the bush with her. She obviously didn't feel the odd stirring of hesitation that he felt.

When they stepped into the flat, John found Sherlock sitting on the couch in his pyjamas, flipping through a thick book so quickly that he couldn't possibly be actually reading it. When he noticed their presence, Sherlock looked up from the book and scowled. "So nice of you to just let yourself in…..when you weren't invited, by the way" Sherlock said annoyed before looking back at the book. John was beginning to wonder if Sherlock actually was mad about something though John couldn't imagine what he could have possibly done to make Sherlock so obviously pissed at him.

Mary, unperturbed by Sherlock's rudeness, plowed on. "Hello, Sherlock. How nice to see you too" she said pleasantly, sitting down on the couch next to him, all smiles. Sherlock looked at her as though she had grown a second head. "We missed you while we were away."

"I doubt you gave me a second thought on your sex holiday" Sherlock said rudely, flipping through the book. John sat down the bag of take away on the table and sat in the chair next to the couch. The odd nerves in his stomach had dissipated; Sherlock was just the same old Sherlock. He didn't know why he'd been nervous in the first place.

"You don't have to be such a git about it" John retorted back, giving Sherlock a look that earned him a rare Sherlock middle finger.

"Now, boys…..play nice" Mary said, trying to defuse the situation. John didn't know why she bothered; Sherlock was just plain rude. On second thought, he hadn't missed him at all.

"Why don't we all just have a little dinner and catch up on what we have missed" Mary said pleasantly. She turned to Sherlock which John felt slightly annoyed by. "Tell us, what's been going on in London the past week?"

"Nothing" Sherlock growled. "The criminals have been positively boring this week. Nothing more than a 3 all week; I didn't even go in to the Yard once."

"What a shame…..no murders for a whole week. London might fall" John said. He meant it to be a joke but it came out harsh. Sherlock scowled at John and he felt that was something of a victory.

Mary shot John a warning look and he felt this was even more unfair; why she seemed to be defending Sherlock so much was beyond him. "That must have been tough for you. Know it's rough when there's nothing to keep the mind entertained" Mary said sympathetically. She pushed the take away toward him, "Here, have some Angelo's. John ordered your favorite."

Sherlock looked at Mary and then back at John before standing up, his face unreadable. "I don't want to eat and I don't want to do…..whatever this is" he said, wrinkling his nose up unpleasantly. "I don't want company. I think the two of you ought to go home and watch a bad sitcom on telly and copulate or whatever it is married people do on a Saturday night. Good night"

Sherlock began to walk out of the room with a flourish of his dressing gown. John was apt to say good riddance, not wanting to have been there at all anyway. Mary, on the other hand seemed to have other ideas. John watched in astonishment as she stood to her feet, hands on hips and said in her most commanding voice, "Sherlock Holmes, you get back here this instant!"

To John's immense surprise, Sherlock stopped and turned around, looking at Mary in shock as if he couldn't believe that she had actually just ordered him. "Excuse me?" he asked in disbelief.

"You heard me" Mary said forcefully. "John and I came over here to visit and you're being incredibly rude. Now, sit down and eat your dinner and fix your attitude right this instant. I know you're really pleased we're here."

John felt a smile spreading across his face at the forcefulness of his wife; too bad she's going to lose, he mused to himself. To his complete and utter disbelief, Sherlock stomped over to the couch, took his container of take away and opened it. "I'm…..sorry" Sherlock reluctantly apologized to Mary as if the words tasted bad in his mouth before beginning to pick at food with a plastic fork.

It took everything in John's power to keep his mouth from hanging open in disbelief. No one ordered Sherlock about and certainly no one got him to apologize. He felt like he'd just been witness to a magic trick.

"You're forgiven" Mary said, sitting down with a smug smile on her face. "Now, apologize to John and tell him how much you've missed him."

Sherlock paled as he looked at John whose face was heating. "Sorry, John" he said, letting the words come out sassy like a child who had been made to apologize for a misdeed. "But I didn't miss you" He said stubbornly.

"Good, I didn't miss you either" John said firmly. He and Sherlock stared at each other for several seconds before they broke into a familiar smile.

"Boys….." Mary said tiredly, watching them as she tucked into her own dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite how unpleasant Sherlock had been at the onset of the evening, the rest of the night progressed fairly well. They ate their dinner as Mary and John chatted about the honeymoon and all the 'mundane' details that Sherlock insisted that he would 'put up with' listening to and they in turn listened as he whined about the idiocy of the Yard and how frustrating it was that no one was committing any interesting crimes. They all finished their dinner and then reclined on the couch watching telly as Sherlock continually corrected the errors. They laughed; even Mary could almost be convinced that Sherlock was actually happy. She sat in the middle of her two favorite men, warm and relaxed. Sherlock seemed to jump every time that her leg touched his and so she gave up trying, leaning heavily on John instead.

When John excused himself to the bathroom at the end of the night and Sherlock made a joke along the lines of, "Try not to damage the pipes too much with your lethal diet's waste" Mary saw it as the perfect opportunity to say something. Because, though John didn't know it, Sherlock was anything but fine right now.

As soon as John went to the bathroom, Sherlock got up and went into the kitchen as if he knew that Mary was waiting to ambush him. She watched him walk into the kitchen, rubbing his arms in what Mary could only assume was a subconscious tick; Mary knew better and it made her sad.

Mary followed Sherlock into the kitchen to find him pouring a cup of tea though he seemed so disinterested in it that she knew he was just doing it to get away. "Want some tea?" Sherlock asked, looking down at the tea cup but his eyes darting toward her presence behind him.

Mary knew it was better to just get it over with rather than to beat around the bush. "How bad is it, Sherlock?" she asked. She could tell the second that she saw him that he had relapsed; she'd suspected it before they'd even come home but she wasn't going to let John know of her suspicions.

Mary knew Sherlock before she had even met him; she knew him by the impression he left behind. When she met John, he was a mess, a complete and total mess of Sherlock influenced energy that had nowhere to go. John had been so totally devastated by Sherlock's death that she had no doubts the depth of John's care for him. She'd heard all about him and their past life together over the course of their dating life and knew Sherlock had to be indeed a powerful force of a man. When he had come back into John's life, Mary knew her life would forever be different; she knew that there was no having John Watson without having Sherlock as well. She knew despite John's initial insistence that he didn't want to have anything to do with Sherlock any longer that he wouldn't be able to resist the force of Sherlock's pull and she had been right. Sherlock was everything that she imagined he would be; charming, attractive, intelligent, brilliant and at times the most frustrating man on the planet. He had a pull about him that drew people in whether they wanted to be or not, her included.

But seeing him in the flesh had taught her many things that just hearing about him couldn't. She had never for a moment doubted that John cared for, even loved, Sherlock but she was not prepared for the utter devotion she saw in Sherlock's eyes for John. It was not something that most anyone could see but she could. Sherlock didn't just enjoy having John around; he _needed_ John like normal humans needed water or air. It didn't bother her; she wouldn't have dared to stand between such a pure affection. It didn't make John's love for her any less; it was a completely different thing.

Mary had learned a lot of things about Sherlock, things that no one else could see; mainly, that he was far more fragile and breakable than he let on. He was emotionally distant on the outside but deeply internalized his feelings. She knew his teenage habits of self-harm and eating problems, though not completely gone now, had developed into a drug habit as he aged. She could also see, without the shadow of a doubt that he was in the throes of serious drug use right now. And she knew exactly why that was.

"I don't know what you're talking about" Sherlock insisted, his words clipped and short; emotional without trying to be.

Mary leaned on the counter so she could face him, crossing her arms as she looked up into the sad, bloodshot eyes that only looked so distraught when John was nowhere to be seen.

"Cut the shit, Sherlock" Mary said firmly. "I'm not John and you can't fool me. I know you're on drugs."

Sherlock's pale cheeks tinted pink as anger crossed his face. "I am clean" he insisted, lying through his teeth.

"Not having shot up for 24 hours doesn't make you clean. You're shaking right now; you're a drug addict without his drug. You're not clean." Mary said, seeing through his mask.

Sherlock clenched his hands, making an obvious effort to stop shaking but it wasn't possible. "You're mistaken" Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes and looking dangerously dark at Mary. Maybe it made other people balk but she was not one of them.

"I'm not" Mary said, "I know you're using. John would know it too if he looked at you properly. He doesn't see it because he doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want to know he caused this in some vague way. You need to tell him; if you don't, I will."

Mary was not surprised when Sherlock grabbed her arm, his voice full of anger. "You will not tell John anything" he threatened.

Mary pulled free of Sherlock's grasp, giving him a sad look. No matter how angry he got with her she couldn't deny that he was only on drugs because he was so lonely and so insecure about where his relationship with John stood. She only felt sorry for him. "Unless you get clean, I will tell John you've been using and you know how he will react. He cares about you, Sherlock. You know he does…..let him in. Stop using as a way to bury your grief. If you hate me, that's fine but-

"I don't hate you" Sherlock said quickly.

"No?" Mary asked with a raise of her eyebrow. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. John was yours and I stole him from you. I might hate you in the same situation." Mary knew that Sherlock didn't hate her. He cared for her too and that only made his pain worse. He was a man who was used to not loving anyone and now he had two people he loved.

"John was not _mine_ " Sherlock spat out distastefully. "You make it sound indecent."

"How do I make it sound?" Mary asked curiously.

"You make it sound like I want to be with him." Sherlock said, his voice repulsed, his eyes appearing even more sunken in.

"Don't you?" Mary asked neutrally. There was no doubt in her mind that Sherlock wished, at least part of the time, that she was no longer around and John was back with him like he used to be.

"No!" Sherlock said running his hands through his hair in frustration, making the disheveled curls flay out wildly.

Mary paused. "You can say whatever you like; you can lie to me. But I know what other people don't know. I know you shot up the night of our wedding and every day since. I know it's because you're in unspeakable pain. You're so lonely; you feel lost without John. That's not going to go away. I'm not a jealous woman; you can admit you need him. Don't push us away."

Mary took a chance and reached out, putting her hand on Sherlock's arms, rubbing it gently. Sherlock leaned into the touch ever so slightly for a second before flinching away, regaining himself. "Just get out…get out, would you?" he asked, his voice cracking, full of emotion and pain. Mary felt the sudden need to reach out and embrace him but she knew it wouldn't be welcome.

"Yeah…yeah, I'll leave" Mary said, resigned. "But I still care about you." She turned and left Sherlock in the kitchen. A few minutes later, John emerged from the bathroom and they went home.

…..

John knew something was up; he could feel the change in mood the second that he had left the bathroom. Everyone had been laughing and having a good time despite Sherlock's earlier sour mood but when they left, there was noticeable tension between Sherlock and Mary. John didn't comment on it; he supposed that Mary would tell him if Sherlock had been an ass to her. But she was quiet on the ride home and as they got ready for bed. She didn't seem angry or put off; she seemed sad. When they turned out the light and got into bed, John slipped in behind her, putting his arms around her and letting his hand rest on where their tiny child was growing inside her. Mary scooted back into his touch so that her bum rested deliciously in his lap; he expected her to being the wiggling against him that would be his undoing. But she didn't; she put her hands against his and sighed. She must really be feeling down about something because she was usually so upbeat.

"Mary…you alright?" John asked finally in the quiet darkness of their room.

Mary was silent for a long time. "Yeah….course I am." She said. It was unconvincing.

"Did Sherlock say something to you? I feel like something happened when I was in the bathroom." John said. In all fairness, he knew he had been in there awhile, damn tacos, but still nothing should have taken place in that short of time to make such a noticeable difference between the two of them.

"No….Sherlock didn't say anything. Just go to sleep" Mary said tiredly. John was not having it; he knew he was no expert with women but he knew that she was not alright. John turned Mary around so that she was facing him with sad eyes.

"What's wrong then? I can tell you're upset" John asked. He stroked Mary's cheek with his thumb and she sighed, leaning into it.

"Do you ever worry about Sherlock? I mean does he seem alright to you?" Mary asked him cryptically.

John shrugged; Sherlock was the same dickish prat he'd always been. John had thought maybe Sherlock was angry at him but after Mary yelled at him he had been remarkably better behaved. "He seemed fine. Why? Did he say something to make you think he wasn't alright?" John asked, beginning to worry.

Mary was silent for a long spell. "He's lonely. He misses having you around." She said finally, sounding miserable on Sherlock's behalf.

John felt himself balk; if he was honest, there were times that he wished that things could go back to the way that they had been. There were days he woke surprised to not find himself waking in 221B. But he wouldn't change what he had; he did not regret having or marrying Mary. He loved her and life went on; it was good. To say otherwise anyway would be horribly insulting to her he felt. "Did he tell you that?" John asked skeptically. It wasn't that he thought that Mary was making things up but he just found it completely implausible that Sherlock and Mary had a heart to heat about him missing John. Half the time Sherlock didn't seem to want him around when he was there.

"No…..but I can just tell. The wedding was hard on him; he wishes things were the way they were." Mary said quietly.

John swallowed down a surge of anger that was bubbling in his chest. Of course she had no proof that Sherlock missed him because he didn't. She just thought that he did but she didn't realize that Sherlock didn't have feelings like normal people. Old feelings were coming to the forefront; this was all Sherlock's fault anyway. Things weren't the way that they used to be because Sherlock had faked his death for two years. If he was lonely, it was because he'd made himself alone.

"Mary, Sherlock is fine. You don't need to worry about him" John said evenly, holding back his anger.

"I think you should see him more often. I'm sure he'd like that" Mary said.

"Did he say anything to you? Really?" John asked. It didn't make sense why she was pushing this so much.

"No…..I'm just suggesting….." Mary said.

John pulled her close, petting her hair. "If it makes you feel better, I'll look in on him more" John said, really just to put her at ease. Right then all he could feel was annoyance at Sherlock. "Now let's go to sleep."

….

 _Sherlock was lying back on the ground, the feel of cool grass under his head and warm sun on his face. He could hear birds chirping, feel the breeze against his face and his mind was blissfully calm. He felt at ease and relaxed._

 _A hand worked its way into his own at his side, soft and smooth, fingers between his own. Sherlock turned his head and own his eyes to see Mary lying next to him, holding his hand and smiling at him._

 _"_ _What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked curiously. His mind didn't supply him answers as usual._

 _Mary grinned at him. "Staying with you…where would we go?" she asked._

 _"_ _We?" Sherlock asked. In response, he felt a rough and strong hand work its way into his other hand, squeezing his hand._

 _Sherlock turned his head to the other side and saw John lying next to him. His heart did an odd skip and he felt warmth radiating through his body. "You didn't think we'd leave you, did you?" John asked him._

 _Sherlock felt a sudden bubble of panic rise in his throat; he could remember the loneliness, the fear. The fear that Mary and John would leave him. He'd meant what he said, after all; they had a real baby now and didn't need him. "I…I was afraid you might" he said, his voice betraying him._

 _John's thumb ran along Sherlock's hand and it calmed him down. "We're never going to leave you, Sherlock. We never could."_

 _Sherlock basked in the warm, safe glow as Mary and John moved closer to him and all was well._

 _…_ _._

It was not easy to obtain cocaine when one had a dominating, nosey, intrusive brother that was intent on keeping you from getting any. Sherlock paced the floor as he waited for the messenger that he had sent out; through five members of his homeless network, he was fairly certain that he would succeed. To not succeed wasn't even an option; these thoughts, these _dreams_ he had had to stop.

Sherlock stared out the window at the quiet 3 A.M. street, biting his nails to nubs; a habit he despised. He felt anxious and he hated feeling anxious. His thoughts returned to Mary and the exchange they had earlier. He was used to putting it over on John; he was easy to mold and convince. Mary needed more convincing; she picked up on more. He had to be more careful. After all, she seemed to think he had a problem. She simply didn't understand; this was the only solution to his overactive mind.

Sherlock saw the messenger he had sent out disappear down the alley and he felt his heart leap in excitement. He tore off down the stairs and out the back door, rushing to the small hole in the wall that the drug had been stored in. Certain Mycroft would catch him if he lingered, he ran back inside before he could spotted.

He didn't have a problem. He'd had a true addiction years ago but that was long past. Right now all he had was an excess of time on his hands and troubling thoughts. He shut the front door, locking it behind him. He thought about going to bed but that's where the troubling dreams lingered; he settled on his chair. Sitting in his customary spot, he stared across at John's empty chair as he slid the needle into the flesh of his arm. It stung and he focused on that instead of the thoughts of John and Mary who were no doubt tucked in bed together, safe and wrapped in each other's arms.

His thoughts began to slow _….Why did Mary even try and pretend she was genuinely concerned? It was her fault wasn't it? She was the reason…_

 _She was the reason….John was gone…_

 _…_ _..Horrible, selfish Mary….._

 _Mary….who smelled of flowers and vanilla…Mary who was warm….who's hands were soft…._

 _Sherlock finally drifted off to a place where he didn't feel everything so much; where everything was great and he wasn't alone…._


	3. Chapter 3

"And can you tell me when the headaches started, Mrs. Jones?" John asked, looking over the file at the plump, middle aged women sitting on the exam table.

"About three months" Mrs. Jones said, clutching her hand bag nervously.

"How often would you say that you have these headaches?" John asked.

"Nearly every day" Mrs. Jones said, as John stifled a yawn behind his hand.

It had been three days since he and Mary had returned from their honeymoon and it was his first day back at work. It had not been easy to get up in the morning to get ready but he had somehow made it; he found himself fondly wishing that he was back on a beach, basking in the sun alongside Mary.

John could feel his mobile buzzing in his back pocket and he tried to ignore the annoyance that it brought. After Mary had seemed so concerned about Sherlock's being left alone for too long, John had tried to call him the past two days with no answer. He'd even tried to stop by 221B yesterday but Sherlock had not been there. Consoled that Sherlock was plenty busy and not at home pinning away for them, he had forgotten about it. That was until today when Sherlock had tried to call him no less than 15 times while he had been at work. Maybe John shouldn't have felt irritated but he did; it's like Sherlock only wanted to interact with him when it was inconvenient. Well, he'd just have to wait; he still had five hours left in his shift.

"When you get these headaches, where is the pain placed on your head?" John asked, making notes on Mrs. Jones' file.

"Well, it starts about here and then-oh good heavens!"

Mrs. Jones jumped nearly half way off of the exam table as the door to the room burst open and none other than Sherlock Holmes burst in, all smiles and maniacal glean in his eyes.

John, thrown off, dropped his pen as Sherlock swept in the room like a hurricane. "Sherlock! What are you doing here!?" he demanded, angry and embarrassed.

"We have a case, John!" Sherlock said in excitement, nearly bouncing on his feet. "Three murders in the past month, all with the heads of the victims taken off and sewn onto the next victim. That has to be at least an eight if not a nine! Come on, what are you waiting for?"

John could actually feel his blood boiling inside him, waiting to leave his body in a fit of rage. He looked over to Mrs. Jones who looked horrified at Sherlock's news and forced a smile. "Would you excuse me for a moment, Mrs. Jones? I'll be right back" he said pleasantly.

"Y-yes…..of course" Mrs. Jones stuttered out as John turned on Sherlock with a look of death in his eyes.

John grabbed Sherlock by the hand and yanked him into the hallway, surprised that Sherlock had actually taken the leading. John dragged Sherlock down the hallway and into his office. Slamming the door behind him, he let go of Sherlock's cold, clammy hand and turned on him, fire in his eyes.

"What the _HELL_ do you think you're doing!?" John demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Sherlock for all he was worth.

Sherlock's face faltered a bit but he still had that stupid, there's-been-a-murder-grin on his face. "We have a case…..I've just told you that. Now come on" Sherlock said carefully as if John had limited intelligence and couldn't understand him.

"I'm not going anywhere with you Sherlock" John said firmly. He could feel that rise of excitement that came with knowing Sherlock; it was contagious. He pushed it down and focused on the irrational anger he felt at him.

"What? Why?" Sherlock asked. John had finally succeeded in wiping that smile off of his face.

"I'm working, Sherlock. Can't you see that?" John asked.

"You're not doing anything important" Sherlock insisted.

John shook his head; that was the problem with Sherlock. He couldn't see that anything that didn't involve him was important. "I'm in the middle of seeing a patient!" John said.

"She's not really sick. Been to four doctors the past two months; hooked on pain killers, she is" Sherlock said in an all knowing way as if that just fixed everything.

"I'm not leaving work, so you can just leave without me" John insisted, his anger bubbling inside his head like a storm that made it hard to think. Sherlock gave him a sad look that made him want to punch him and maybe in the nose or teeth this time.

"But I need you…..you're my assistant" Sherlock said, pleading in his eyes.

John knew that it was meant to be something that would convince him to go but it had the opposite effect. That was really the problem here; he had always been Sherlock's sidekick. He had bloody done everything for this man, loved him even, for some crazy reason and all he had ever been to Sherlock was a sidekick. Not someone to trust, not someone to let know when he had to fake his death; someone to lie to when it was convenient and only tell the truth to when it suited his needs.

In a flurry of anger, John slammed his fist down on his desk. "I'm not your bloody assistant!" he said angrily. "I'm not someone that you can call who will come running after you like a puppy! I have a job, a wife…I'm going to be a dad! You can't just assume I'm here to do your bidding! I have other things in my life; I can't just drop everything and do what you want. Maybe you should have thought of that before you left me for two years; I had to carry on!"

John wanted an argument; he wanted to have it out, all that they had never said when Sherlock came back. He wanted Sherlock to yell at him; even better if he would try to hit him. But none of that was what happened. John watched Sherlock's face pale to a corpse- like pallor in front of him; it was only then that John noticed how sunk in his eyes were, how hollow his cheeks. Sherlock looked almost sickly without the excitement to cover it up.

"Of course" Sherlock said in clipped tone. "I…I should have realized…."

John watched as Sherlock turned around and fled his office with too quick a pace. The second that he was gone, John's anger dissipated and he felt guilty. He'd had reason to be angry; Sherlock couldn't just assume everyone lived to serve him. But he could have handled it a different way. He slowly made his way back to exam room and plunged himself into his work, trying to push Sherlock's look of disappoint out of his mind.

…

John was weary as he made his way up to his and Mary's flat later that evening. He'd had plenty of patients to see and ample work to catch up on since he had been off for nearly two weeks and he pushed himself all day. That didn't mean that he didn't think about Sherlock all day and hope that he hadn't insulted him too badly. It was only after Sherlock had stalked out that he had thought about Mary's warning and her concern about him. Mary was like Sherlock; her gut feelings were almost always true and John hoped that Sherlock didn't take it to heart. He seemed more sensitive since he had returned from dismantling Moriarty's web but that didn't mean that he cared what John thought either. John had taken a moment every time between patients to try to call or text Sherlock but they had all gone unanswered. John tried to reconcile himself to the fact; if Sherlock was working an active case then he would be difficult to get a hold of.

The delicious scent of dinner was wafting throughout the flat and John found Mary in the kitchen when he got home. He came up behind her, giving her a kiss on the cheek before sitting down wearily at the kitchen table.

"Had a rough day back?" Mary asked sympathetically, reading his mood.

"No…..not really" John said. "It was the same as usual. I just…..well, Sherlock burst into the office about lunch time and demanded I come with him on a case. We had a row and I haven't heard from him since."

John hadn't wanted to tell Mary, seeing as she seemed to think he needed looking after but he needed someone to talk to. "Well, of course you couldn't drop what you were doing" Mary said sensibly. "You have to work; he's got to know that. Just try to ring him tomorrow after he's had some time to cool off"

John felt himself mentally relax; Mary was right. This was why he always felt better after talking to her; she always pointed out when he was blowing things out of proportion.

Making up his mind to worry about it no longer, John pushed it out of his mind as he and Mary had a quiet dinner, catching up on each other's days. They'd finished eating and were clearing off the dishes when John's mobile began to ring against his back pocket. Thinking about Sherlock once more, he pulled it out as quickly as he could.

"Hello?" John said, his voice as cheerful as he could make it.

The sound on the other end definitely wasn't Sherlock and it definitely wasn't a happy sound. The sound of muffled crying could be heard on the other end and John's heart instantly jumped into his chest. "Hello? Who is this?" John asked, his voice slightly demanding.

"John…its Sherlock" John could make out Mrs. Hudson's voice through the sound of her cries.

Everything around John seemed to move into slow motion; the sound of Mary washing the dishes sounded a mile away, the telly in the living room a distant roar. His heart was speeding but his blood felt like molasses through his body. "What about Sherlock?" John asked, his voice on edge. He could see Mary drop the dishes into the water, drying her hands as she watched him, her own senses of alert.

"The paramedics just came and took him to the hospital…he overdosed, they said." Mrs. Hudson sputtered between sobs, fighting to catch her breath.

Everything seemed so far away; the kitchen around John blurred into nondescript colors around him. "What did he take?" John asked, his medical mind wanting in some way to tell him that this wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

"I…..I…..don't know" Mrs. Hudson said in a distressed, strangled voice. "They took him to the hospital. Go to him….make sure he's alright…he looked so bad off, John."

The food in John's stomach began to churn and make its way toward his throat, his hands shaking. "I will…I'm right on my way"

John hung up his phone, just barely managing to get his fingers to work. He was shaking; he felt his mind on the verge of panic but he forced himself into safe mode. Years of being in the army and having to make split second decisions about people's medical care had given him a good sense of behavior in an emergency. It helped but it never made it easy when Sherlock was the one in peril. John had seen Sherlock in life or death situations far more often than he would have wanted but it never got easier.

"What's wrong, John?" Mary asked beside him, her face paled, her hands placed on a nervous stomach.

"Its….Sherlock" John managed to croak out, not looking at her. "He's overdosed."

"Oh my god" Mary said in a hushed tone beside him, alarm full in her voice. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Don't know" John said, using all of his energy not to give into the panic that was growing bigger and bigger by the second inside his chest. "Mrs. Hudson said they took him to the hospital and he was bad off."

"Oh no….."Mary was repeating as she sunk into a chair. John dared a look at her for a moment before he had to look away. She looked so devastated, so concerned. She cared about Sherlock, maybe even more that he realized and John was the one that had put him in harm's way.

"I did this…this is my fault" John said, his voice distant, eyes unfocused as the tendrils of panic were beginning to close around his heart. Safe mode didn't work well when Sherlock was the one in danger and he was responsible. All he could think about was the fight they'd had earlier. Sherlock was, in his own unique and misunderstood way, feeling neglected and abandoned after the wedding and John had told him precisely what he hadn't wanted to hear.

"This isn't your fault" Mary said, slipping her hand into John's and giving it a squeeze. "You can't blame yourself"

But it was too late; John legs were shaking and his heart hurt from what this could mean. "But I did…..you told me was lonely. You told me he wanted things the way that they used to be all I did was tell him that I didn't need him and that nothing was the same anymore."

John's heart was crashing inside him with guilt when he felt Mary's arms slide around him from behind in a hug. "Shhh…..you can't change it now but we can be there when he wakes up" she told him encouragingly, shaky as voice was.

 _When he wakes up….._ John tried to focus on that and burn it into his mind as truth.


	4. Chapter 4

John was nothing but a ball of nerves by the time that they reached hospital and found Sherlock's room. He just kept replaying the awful scene from his office in his mind despite Mary's consolations that this was not his fault. John felt terrible; he had assumed that Sherlock was an emotionless machine. He certainly had behaved that way. After finding out that Sherlock kept his death a secret for two years, causing John unimaginable pain and suffering, it had just added to his notion that Sherlock didn't have feelings like other people and didn't care about exploiting others. He'd been so busy trying to bury his anger and resentment over Sherlock's mistakes that he hadn't taken the time to appreciate that Sherlock was different now than when he had jumped off of the roof of St. Bart's. His acceptance of Mary, his help in all the wedding preparations, his best man speech, the song he made for them…..they were all things that John would have never thought possible of Sherlock before. He cared; to what depth John didn't know but this act was enough to tell him that he cared much more than John had given him credit for.

John was brought out of his own tortured thoughts by the sound of Mary crying softly beside him. John thought he must be imagining it until he turned around and saw Mary with her hand pressed over her mouth, tears on her cheeks. "Hey…..it's going to be alright" John tried to encourage her, putting his arms around her. He really didn't know if it was but one of the worst things to watch in his opinion was a crying Mary and he wanted to fix it if he could.

"I did this…it's my fault he's here" Mary said in a loathing voice, the same one John had used at home.

"Mary, there's no way this could possibly be your fault" John said, wondering why she was putting this on herself. "Didn't you just tell me that it wasn't my fault? It's not yours either."

"But…..it…..is" Mary said, taking breaths and trying to get her cries under control. "I lied to you the other day about what happened with Sherlock and me when we were at his flat; why he was mad at me."

John pulled back slightly so he could look at Mary, a strange dread filling him. "What do you mean?" he asked calmly as he could, knowing deep down that Mary wouldn't do anything intentionally to hurt Sherlock.

"He was using drugs again and I knew it" Mary said, wiping her red eyes on the back of her hand.

John felt a weight crash on top of him; it had been so long since Sherlock had used. What kind of turmoil must he have been in to be using again. "Why didn't you tell me?" John asked. He didn't want to be angry but so many what ifs were filling his mind. Had he known Sherlock was actively using drugs he would have taken better care of him and he wouldn't be here right now. It must have been the same thoughts Mary was berating herself with at the moment.

"I was trying to be his friend…..I knew he'd hate me if I told you" Mary said and John's heart hurt because she sounded so young when she said it, just like a mate trying to protect another. "I had my suspicions but seeing him that night confirmed it. I confronted him about it and he tried to deny it but I know he was using again. I told him if he didn't get clean I'd tell you but I should have known he couldn't do it on his own. I had no idea he was suicidal."

John wanted to be angry; how could Mary have kept something like this from him? But she was so sad, so miserable that he knew she was in enough pain. "You have to tell me things like that" John said, calmly, pulling her in for a hug.

Mary was quiet for a long moment, nestled in his arms before she said, "I know you think that he doesn't feel things like other people…..but its killing him."

"What?" John asked, feeling like he knew the answer but not wanting to accept it.

"Us…being together, leaving him…all of it" Mary said.

John didn't know what to say; there wasn't much he felt like he could say at the moment of the multitude of things that could be said. "Come on…lets go get this over with. We'll figure this out" John said, carefully detaching himself from Mary and taking her hand to lead her into Sherlock's hospital room.

It was worse than John had imagined; he had seen Sherlock on drugs and he had seen him in the hospital close to death but it still didn't prepare him. Sherlock was asleep, curled in the middle of the bed, looking smaller and younger than John had ever seen him. He skin was pale grey with a sick greenish tint; he looked like a corpse. The sunken state of his eyes and cheeks John had noticed earlier seemed worse now with him unconscious. The worst part of it all was the state of Sherlock's exposed arms in his hospital gown. They were a patchwork of blue, purple and yellow bruises. It was obvious that Mary was not only right in assuming that Sherlock had been using since the wedding but long before that as well. Out of nowhere, John was assaulted by the image of pale skin contrasted with blood on pavement, the feel of cold lifeless hand in his own that used to haunt his dreams…

"Quite a sight, is he not?" Mycroft's undistinguished tone of a voice pulled John's eyes away from Sherlock and to him sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"What happened?" John asked, urgent to know that Sherlock's state wasn't quite as bad as he thought it was.

"Obvious, isn't it?" Mycroft asked, in his slow, infuriating way. "My delicate brother has gone and had an overdose."

Anger rose up inside John; couldn't Mycroft act a little more concerned? Ever? "You had no idea he was so bad off? Don't you watch his every move?" John accused angrily.

"I have been taking every caution to limit his access to getting drugs for weeks" Mycroft said, heat beginning to tint his words. "I imagine that's why he felt the need to take every single pill in the medicine cabinet of your old flat. It's a wonder that it didn't do him in; it was only the nosiness of his landlady that kept him alive. A few more minutes and it would have been too late. You obviously don't watch his every move anymore"

John pushed aside his anger at Mycroft's jab at him; he wasn't going to take all of the blame for this. He already had his fair share of blame. "What did the doctor say? Is he going to be alright?" John asked. The only way that he could get through this was to stick to the cut and dry facts.

"They pumped his stomach; they feel they got to him before most of the drugs made their way through his system" Mycroft said, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "His vitals are stable but he hasn't woken up yet; they're keeping him under observation."

John looked over at Sherlock in the bed again; Mary was already sitting on the bed beside him, watching him with worry in her eyes. When he turned back to Mycroft, he had stood up and was making his way over to John. "I've always trusted you John to keep my brother in check. If he does this again, he'll succeed."

The dread and sickening feeling in John's stomach grew as he watched Mycroft leave the room and Mary take Sherlock's hand.

…..

John and Mary were going to leave him; that fact was indisputable. It might be weeks, months or even years from now; most likely it would all fall apart about the time the baby came along. He'd been able to deny it all, really, until that. He always had a chance of holding onto them; when he had found out that Mary was pregnant he knew it was all over.

He was not used to caring; before John there had been no one to care for. He faked his death to keep John alive; he'd never once thought that when he came back John would have left him. It wasn't that he blamed Mary for it; maybe initially had wanted her gone because she had stolen John's allegiance. But then she had worked her way into his heart somehow. Soon, any anger he had felt at her dissolved and felt forced because she was charming and brilliant and John loved her so how could he not? Where there once nothing inside his cold heart, there was now a JohnandMary shaped hole.

 _What were they giving him in this hospital? Bloody making him sentimental…._

Sherlock could hear the sounds of muffled voices somewhere as he began to come around; he slammed his eyes shut to keep from acknowledging the waking world as long as possible.

 _"_ _I'm not someone that you can call who will come running after you like a puppy! I have a job, a wife…I'm going to be a dad! You can't just assume I'm here to do your bidding! I have other things in my life; I can't just drop everything and do what you want. Maybe you should have thought of that before you left me for two years; I had to carry on!"_

Not even the pull of a definite eight and multiple corpses could entice Sherlock to forget about that remark. John had better obligations, obligations that had nothing to do with Sherlock. For the moment he occupied a small place in John and Mary's lives but wouldn't last. They had each other and they didn't need him any longer; certainly wouldn't need him once their baby came along.

Sherlock felt a hand in his own, warm and gentle; _Mary._ They all thought he was still asleep so he could allow himself to soak in her touch for these few precious moments. Envy…..was that what it was? The little nagging sensation in his heart when he watched Mary hold John's hand, when he watched them exchange a kiss, when they came to him smelling like each other's skin… _damn drugs were making him lose his mind…._

He hadn't tried to kill himself; he knew no one believed that but he really hadn't wanted to die. He'd just had so many thoughts and he wanted them to stop; heroine was completely impossible to get his hands on now thanks to Mycroft. He was weak; he knew taking a mess of pills was a bad choice. It could potentially hurt his mind, the only thing about him worth saving. It was all a blur…suddenly was on the bathroom floor surrounded by bottles and then the seizures started. It was all black after that.

Mary's hand was warm against his own; the rest of his body shivered cold. "Mary…"

"Yes, Sherlock? I'm right here" Sherlock hadn't realized that he'd even spoken out loud but he must have.

Sherlock opened his bleary eyes, taking in the horrible hospital room. Mary sat on the bed next to him, clutching his hand, her eyes red from crying; he'd made her cry. John sat on the other side of him, his face drawn in concern.

"How do you feel, Sherlock?" Mary asked, squeezing his hand tightly. She smiled at him even though he knew she just wanted to cry.

"Like hell…" Sherlock said, his eyes already hurting with the force of staying awake. "So tired…stomach aches so bad…."

"That's because they had to pump your stomach" John said, an edge to his voice. "Dozens of pills they forced out of you. Of course your stomach hurts…..what were you thinking?"

"John, please….." Mary said, shooting him a dangerous look, "he just woke up"

"Yeah and I want to know what he was thinking" John said, his voice rising. "Didn't you even think about the effect this was going to have on the people around you? Poor Mrs. Hudson had to find you; sent her into near hysteria"

"John….."Mary warned him again, looking sad.

Sherlock managed to give her a half smile. "It's okay Mary. It's fine" he told her. He knew this wasn't just John attacking him; it was his defense mechanism. When John was confronted with sorrow he lashed out. He was demanding answers because he'd probably actually felt sad because of him; he really shouldn't have.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself, John. I'm not that dramatic" Sherlock told John who was looking at him with a frown.

"What other reason does anyone have for taking a mess of pills?" John demanded. "Was this some kind of statement? Looking for attention?"

Sherlock felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach; he wanted to be sick but his weak stomach couldn't manage to expel anything more. He looked down at the sheets. "No…..I wasn't looking for attention." He said.

"John, you really need to take it easy on him" Mary said, her voice more forceful.

"No…..I won't take it easy on him!" John said growing properly angry now, captain's voice, red face and all. "Taking heroine for weeks now…..going on like it's all fine and then just decides to off himself? You say you weren't trying to kill yourself but you have a complete lack regard for your own life. Whether you want to or not you're going to end up killing yourself and I…." John looked away, showing sadness in his eyes for the first time. "I can't watch you die again. I've already done it once. How can you make me go through that again?"

Sherlock could hear the catch in John's voice, saw the glassiness of his eyes and was not surprised when John fled the room. Mary, looking startled and upset, dropped his hand and looked toward the door. "I'm sorry Sherlock" she said in a tearful voice. "He doesn't mean any of that….he's just upset. I'll go to talk to him."

Sherlock watched as Mary got off of the bed and practically ran out of the room. He tried to ignore the burning in his throat and the feeling of loss that came with his warmed hand growing cold.


	5. Chapter 5

Mary was angry as she followed John out of the room. She knew John wasn't the best at dealing with feelings and that he often lashed out when upset but she had hoped that he would have handled it better than he had. He'd been so upset that she thought maybe he wouldn't yell and make Sherlock feel worse than he already did; the last thing that Sherlock needed was more guilt.

When Mary found John he was leaning against the wall, arm propped on his forehead against the wall, trying to compose himself.

"What exactly was that?" Mary asked, her voice full of the exasperation that she felt. The emotional upheaval of the past few hours was making her evening morning sickness worse and she was sure that she could just fall asleep right then and there if she let herself. But Sherlock and John could be such gits to each other and as usual they needed her to fix it.

"I didn't mean to lose my temper" John said, sighing and pushing back from the wall to look at her tiredly. "I just…how could he not know what this would do to us? How could he not know that this would seem like he was trying to commit suicide? After the torture he put me through jumping…..mourning him for two years. Then he comes back and I try to get over it...Do you think he really he didn't want to kill himself?"

Mary felt the swell of nausea pressing in on her and she tried to force her attention away from it; she didn't want to have to rush to the bathroom right now but her current train of thought wasn't helping her nerves. "I think it was a cry for help" Mary said honestly. "I don't think he realized it but I think subconsciously he was trying to reach out for help. I think he honestly believes he was just being impulsive. The problem is that he doesn't think we'd honestly care"

John shook his head, hanging it. "How can he think that?" he said.

"I don't know…but we have to show him he's wrong" Mary said. "You do know you have to apologize to him, right?"

John nodded. "I know" he said resigned.

"Why don't you go get a cup of coffee, take a walk; clear your head" Mary suggested. "I'll try to talk to him; he might open up more one on one."

John shoved his hands in his pockets, looking sad. "You mean he'll talk to you and not me" he said. It was obvious he was bothered by the idea.

Mary smiled at him, wrapping around him in a hug. "Woman's touch" she assured him. "He needs some mothering. You two will have a much better time talking once you've taken a moment to cool down."

John pulled away, looking reluctant but he agreed. "Okay…..sure" he gave her a forced smile. "You know best, don't you Mary Morstan?"

Mary grinned at him. "Mrs. Watson does know best" she said, watching him walk down the hallway toward the cafeteria before she went back into Sherlock's room.

Mary felt her heart clench when she saw Sherlock sitting in the hospital bed, picking at the blanket on his bed, his bruised arms a contrast to the white wash of everything in the room. It was so much worse than she had suspected…her carelessness could have killed him.

No matter what John said, she felt responsible. What had she been thinking? It was completely irresponsible to assume that a known drug abuser could simply put down his drug and walk away, especially when he was so upset. To be fair, she didn't realize he was this upset. She knew he was feeling lonely; he wanted things the way they had been before she had showed up. But she didn't realize that he was so desperate…..he was definitely crying out subconsciously for attention. No one knew Sherlock was this sensitive; she might be the only one who could get him to open up. She knew how much he cared about John and far from being jealous of their soulmate like connection, she wanted to encourage it; they would both be so much happier if they would just be open with each other.

Mary walked across the room and took up her previous place sitting on the bed next to Sherlock. He looked up briefly at her before staring down at his lap. "John ran off?" he asked. He was trying to put up a brave face but his voice was small and lost sounding.

"Just went to go get some coffee" Mary dismissed. "He'll be back in a little bit"

"You should have him some fetch some peppermint tea. Or maybe a bit of hot water with some lemon" Sherlock said, sounding more like his old self. "I could probably get a nurse to get some for you."

Mary had to admit that she was confused. "What for?" she asked.

Sherlock actually smiled a bit. "They call it morning sickness even though you clearly experience the worst of it in the evening. Lots of women do so calling it morning sickness is erroneous. Peppermint and lemon are supposedly natural cures for morning sickness; as I'm not a woman I'm just going on what I've read."

Mary smiled, her heart tugged by Sherlock's unknowingly caring comment. Sherlock, the man who couldn't remember how many planets were in the solar system or who the prime minster was because he didn't deem it important enough to remember could tell her cures for morning sickness which he no doubt learned for her benefit. "Sherlock…I can't believe you're looking up morning sickness cures on my behalf. Isn't that sentiment?" she asked teasing but she felt tears in her eyes. Blasted hormones…

"No" Sherlock quickly defended. "I needed to go sleep one night so I took to reading _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ to put me to sleep."

Mary had to chuckle at the image of Sherlock reading a book about pregnancy; lord only knew where he got it from. "Did it put you to sleep?" she asked, smiling.

Sherlock frowned. "Hardly…it was disturbing. Let's just say you're at the easy part of pregnancy. You should really resent John for putting you in this position." he said.

Mary laughed, letting the humor trail off for several minutes before she spoke again. Sherlock was looking down, away, anywhere but her as if he suspected where this was going. "We need to talk about this, Sherlock" she said after a long while.

"What about it? What I told John was the truth" Sherlock snapped. "I don't want to die. I really wasn't trying to kill myself. I made a terrible error, that's all."

Mary's heart went out to Sherlock. So lonely, so at a loss to care what happened to him; he spoke of it like he'd simply drank too much or gotten a bit high. He didn't sound like he was talking about taking dozens of pills with complete disregard for what it did to him.

"I know you weren't trying to kill yourself" Mary said, "But you're dying for someone to notice you. You're lonely; you want John to care. Isn't that what it's about? You and John got into a fight and it upset you so that you went home and took all those pills, right?" Mary said it as gentle as she could. Like she told John, Sherlock needed a female's kind touch to get him to open up. He respected John too much to show weakness to him.

"I didn't do this for bloody attention! I'm not a spoiled child!" Sherlock snapped, slamming his fists on the bed.

"I know you're not" Mary said, slipping her hand into Sherlock's to console him. She instantly felt him relax at the touch; _interesting._ "But John's not here. You can be honest with me and he doesn't have to know. I kept your secret about the drugs, didn't I? I can keep a secret…..please talk to me."

Mary hoped that she would win Sherlock's trust; she didn't want to keep things from John but at the same time Sherlock needed someone that he could confide in. Mary knew Sherlock wanted to seem strong and unshakeable to John; the last thing he wanted to do was admit that he felt left out. "It's going to happen eventually…..better sooner rather than later" Sherlock finally said, looking at his and Mary's intertwined fingers.

"What's going to happen sooner or later?" Mary prodded him gently, running a thumb over Sherlock's hand.

"You and John are going to leave me" Sherlock said matter- of -factly, like it had already been decided.

Mary's heart broke inside of her. "Sherlock, John and I aren't going to leave you" she said enthusiastically. "You're our friend, part of our family…..we could never leave you"

"It's just logical" Sherlock plowed on scientifically as if to save himself the pain. "You both have jobs that don't concern me, you have domestic duties. Once the baby comes along, whatever free time you had will vanish. What place do I have in all of that?"

Sherlock wouldn't look at her and when Mary looked at him closely she could see the reason was because there were tears in his eyes. She grabbed Sherlock by the face and made him look at her. "You are part of our family. You are going nowhere, you hear me, Sherlock Holmes? You're staying here, alive and well with us, you hear me?"

Sherlock's eyes were big as saucers and swimming as he nodded. He didn't speak for a long moment and when he did, Mary couldn't be more surprised. "Mary?" he asked tentatively.

"What, Sherlock?" Mary asked delicately.

"Could you…." Sherlock looked away with his teary eyes. "Could I ask you for a hug?"

What was left inside Mary unbroken was destroyed. How long had it been since Sherlock had been hugged, since he had felt genuine affection? How desperate must he being feeling if he as actually asking Mary for a hug being the same man who acted like he bemoaned the slightest touch from anyone?

Mary moved forward to hug him with such speed that he jumped a bit as her arms wrapped around him. Mary wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck, holding him close as she laid her chin against his shoulder. Sherlock hesitated for only the slightest moment before he wrapped his arms around her back and squeezed her back. "You can always have a hug" Mary whispered in his ear. "All you ever had to do was ask"

….

Sherlock spent most of the remainder of his hospital stay in various states of consciousness, floating in and out of sleep, making it hard to distinguish what was real and what wasn't. They were giving him something but he wasn't sure what; when he tried to detach his IV John fussed. He wanted to go home and he remembered things only in bursts and flashes.

John had apologized for being rude and said that he would be there if Sherlock needed anything; Sherlock suspected that Mary told him to say it.

He dreamed about Mary; how nice it felt to have her arms around him, the whisper of her breath on his ear. Maybe Mary cared for him; he was sure that he cared for now.

Mary and John tried to get him to eat but he refused each time; hospital food was so disgusting. He wanted to back at 221B.

Mary got sick twice while there; maybe peppermint and lemon weren't as good as people claimed. John rubbed her shoulders and her stomach when it ached. They kissed when they thought he was asleep; once they talked about sex in vivid detail which he thought was a bit rude even if he was feigning sleep.

Crap telly droned on and made it difficult to sleep properly; the man in the hospital room across the hall from him died and it made Sherlock feel uneasy.

 _He dreamed about John in his army uniform…He dreamed about Mary tucking the covers around him….he dreamed about JohnSherlockMary sandwiches…._

Finally….. _finally…_ they took his dreadful IV out and Sherlock resurfaced. Finally, he could feel like himself again .It turned out that feeling like himself wasn't all it was cracked out to be. His stomach still ached like he'd been punched, his head hurt, he was shaking from withdrawal; but he could think again and that was the important part. They were going to let him go home and for that Sherlock could only be grateful even if he felt like rubbish.

Mary and John left the room as Sherlock changed out of the dreadful hospital gown and into his clothes to leave. Back in his suit, back in proper clothes, he felt more like himself. He still felt terrible physically but it was just the transport; he was back.

"Hello?" Mary called cautiously as she and John entered the room again.

"I'm decent" Sherlock said and a moment later Mary pulled back the curtain and she and John came to sit on the bed beside him.

"Ready to go home?" Mary asked, smiling at him eagerly. She was up to something; he just couldn't deduce what yet.

"Yes….this place is awful. I hate hospitals. I have no idea why you kept me here this long" Sherlock moaned. He wanted to get this over with and he wanted to know why Mary seemed to be grinning at him so.

"We kept you here because the doctors said so" John said with a smile. "You can't be feeling up to par, even now"

"No, but I can rest much better in the peace and quiet of my own bed than in here. I'm sure that you two can't wait to get back to your own flat to canoodle or whatever." Sherlock said snappily. He was actually looking forward to a drugless sleep for one of the few times in his life.

Mary was grinning at him again with that look in her eye that made him uncomfortable, made him assume something was afoot. "Actually, we were thinking that we could stay with you for a bit. We could all spend a bit of time together at 221B. Wouldn't that be nice?" Mary asked in a sickly sweet voice; she knew he was likely to refuse.

Sherlock looked from Mary to John. Though John did a good job of concealing his surprise, it was obvious that he hadn't been consulted on this idea beforehand. Sherlock felt his weak stomach give a painful lunge. Mary didn't ask John because he would have said no; now, in front of him he couldn't say no. John didn't want to have any more to do with him than he already did. They still had separate lives and that was obviously the way that John wanted it. "I don't need a babysitter" Sherlock snapped.

"We know you don't need a babysitter" Mary said in that sugary voice that was making it difficult to think. "But wouldn't it be fun for us all to have a sleep over for a while?"

Sherlock eyed John out of the corner of his eye and thought he saw him visibly cringe. "Sleep overs are for 13 year old girls, not grown adults. Especially two of which are a married couple" he said dryly. "I don't want to have a sleep over"

Mary's sweet look vanished, replaced one that made her look like a cougar ready to pounce on him if he made the wrong move. "Well, you don't really get a say. We're coming whether you like it or not" she insisted in the same tone she'd used only days ago when he'd tried to send them away the last time. Why couldn't he say no to it? Was he losing his nerve? Why did he actually feel himself listening to this small, forceful woman? Must still be the medication even though he couldn't detect any in his system.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Mary. "I hate you, you know that?" he tried to threaten but it was empty.

He felt a warm burst of sensation spread through him as Mary wrapped him a side hug, smiling from ear to ear. "No you don't and neither no I" she said in an entirely too happy voice.


	6. Chapter 6

"This is a terrible idea" John muttered to himself as he threw pants and socks into a suitcase on his bed. Mary was bustling around the room with more energy than he had seen her have in days and it irked him. It wasn't that he was angry at Mary; he couldn't be mad at her because he knew that she was just trying to look out for Sherlock. But he would have liked to have been consulted on the matter. First the matter with her not telling him about the drugs and now this; it made him feel like she was being rather deceitful and he didn't care for it. Besides, she had no idea what living with Sherlock really meant. All his anecdotes of life with Sherlock sounded cute and funny to her. It was much less cute when he was actually bursting into your bedroom at 3 am or using your toothbrush to clean a skull in the kitchen.

"I wish you'd at least have said something to me about this. You put me on the spot" John said irritably as he zipped his suitcase closed. They had dropped Sherlock off at 221B an hour ago; he'd surprised everyone by wanting to go straight to bed. John had stayed long enough that he could check that Sherlock was actually asleep before they left. He was fantastic at feigning sleep and John wanted to make sure. Mary had a point; John didn't feel right about leaving him alone, even to come to their own flat and retrieving some personal effects before going back. But living with him for any amount of time was going to bring up…..issues.

"And what would you have said if I had asked?" Mary asked, looking up from her packing, tossing a shirt down.

"Probably no" John said honestly.

"And you really think he should be on his own right now? He could have died just days ago" Mary said, conviction in her voice.

"No….I don't think he should be alone" John agreed. "But I also don't think it's our job to take care of him"

Mary gave him an icy stare that made him regret his words instantly. "And who's going to take care of him if we don't?" she asked pointedly.

"Alright…you've got a point" John relented, holding his hands up. "He needs us right now. I know you're right. He barely can care for himself on a good day. But this….. _living together…_ you have no idea what living with Sherlock is like. I think you're going to regret it later."

"This isn't going to be permanent. I know he can be difficult" Mary said. "But you were his flat mate for years so he couldn't have been as bad as you're making him out to be." Mary gave him a securitizing glance. "I think the problem isn't that you think it's going to be disaster. I think you're afraid you might actually like it."

John felt himself pale. "I haven't lived with Sherlock for over two years by his choice. I don't want to start now." He said tight lipped. This whole business was sure to rip apart old wounds. He knew Sherlock was hurting, that much was very obvious. His own pain was much less obvious. How many times had he been contemplating going through with the very thing Sherlock had attempted a couple of days ago?

"Then why are you going along with this?" Mary asked him curiously.

"Because you so conveniently volunteered us both" John said.

"You could say no; I'm not forcing you" Mary said reasonably.

"Well, as you pointed out, he can't really be trusted." John said, feeling a sick feeling in his stomach. "Look what happened the last time that I said something negative to him." He did not want his own reluctance of living with Sherlock to be cause for sending him over the edge again. Mycroft's words haunted him; _If he does this again, he'll succeed._ He couldn't survive Sherlock's death again and now he had much more to lose.

Mary lay across the bed, looking up at him relaxed. "This will be a good thing; for both of you" she said with a peaceful smile on her face.

"It'll be good for Sherlock" John mused. "I fail to see how this is good for me."

John lay down on the bed opposite Mary, looking up at the ceiling. "John, how do you feel about Sherlock?" Mary asked after a moment in the quiet had passed.

"You know…..he's my best friend. Despite it all…" John said truthfully. He could be angry at Sherlock all he wanted but it always came to not. He and Sherlock were like two pieces of a magnet that couldn't stay broken apart no matter how hard they tried; they would always be brought back together again.

"Do you love him?" Mary queried. John sat up so that he could look at her but she was still staring up at the ceiling with a smile on her face.

"What'd you go and ask something like that for?" John asked irritably. Christ, why did it always come back to this?

"You don't have to sound so defensive" Mary said with a laugh. "I didn't ask if you wanted to shag him. I simply wondered if you loved him. There's just a magnitude and severity with everything you two do I simply thought you might deeply care for him."

John lay back looking up as he thought it over. "I suppose I love him. I dunno…..he's like a brother to me" he said simply. What was it with women and their need to name relationships? Whatever he and Sherlock had worked so why examine it so thoroughly?

"You know, you say his name sometimes when you're sleeping" Mary said with a slight giggle.

John sat all the way up, his face burning red. "I do not!" he argued.

"Yeah you do" Mary said sitting up and giving him an enthusiastic nod.

"You're making that up" John said, flaming red. How bloody embarrassing to have your wife accuse you of saying another man's name in bed? Not to mention completely unfounded!

"If I'm making it up why don't you tell me what you were dreaming about last night when you 'weren't' saying his name?" Mary asked curiously.

Mary fixed him with a devious smile and it made him love her all the more somehow. He tossed a pillow at her, making her laugh. "Nothing" he said halfhearted as she laughed against the pillow on her face. It wasn't that he had anything to hide; he certainly wasn't dreaming of anything indecent. Just some of the details could be misconstrued if taken out of context.

Mary pushed the pillow away and grinned at him. "Yeah…that's what I thought."

…..

John had more than enough mixed feelings as he carried his and Mary's suitcases up the stairs of 221B. It wasn't as if this was the first time that he'd been here since moving out; far from it. He'd visited Sherlock here plenty and though that felt odd at first, he'd gotten used to it. But now…it felt different. Coming to visit Sherlock here was a lot different than living here again. It was unpreventable that the idea of living here again would bring up memories of when he lived here before.

John dropped the bags onto the living room floor when they came through the already open front door and he didn't realize how long he stayed there in his own thoughts until he heard Mary's slightly concerned voice behind him. "John? You okay?"

John was okay but he was getting swept away by all of the memories this place was bringing back. It looked the same, exactly the same as it always had. His chair was where it had always been, right across from Sherlock's; same couch on the opposite wall. Books and paper and other assorted junk lined every bookshelf and made piles on the floor; a floor which looked as though Sherlock hadn't let Mrs. Hudson sweep since he'd moved in again. The kitchen was still bustling with piles of science equipment that made it impossible to actually eat in there most of the time. It looked the same…It was impossible not to think about all of the good times he'd had here. The exhilarating feeling of busting through the door, happy and laughing at the end of a case, the pure adrenaline and madness that came with every day when you lived with Sherlock…..even the smallest trinkets and knickknacks he saw sitting about had cases and wonderful excited memories tied to them.

But at the same time he couldn't help but recall the bad memories too. The only reason he'd ever moved out of 221B in the first place was that he couldn't stand the ghost of Sherlock everywhere. It had simply been too hard to live at 221B without him. John hadn't really realized how much Sherlock had come to mean to him; he didn't realize how dependent he was on him until he was gone. Standing now in the quiet of the living room surrounded by so much familiar John couldn't help but recall the nights of lonely agony spent crying in this room, the days curled up on the couch in Sherlock's dressing gowns without purpose, the endless hours spent at the bottom of a bottle so lost he knew he had to get out.

"I'm fine. Just…..thinking" John said noncommittedly before picking up the bags and making his way out of the sitting room. He and Mary stuck their heads into Sherlock's room on the way to their room. John was relieved to see that Sherlock was still sleeping peacefully. He had to admit that he had been skeptical that Sherlock actually meant what he said when he'd said he wanted to go home and just go to sleep. But he was obviously still feeling the effects of his overdoes and no doubt longed for good sleep in his own bed. John knew sleep in a hospital wasn't nearly the same as sleep at home but Sherlock hated sleep so much he was surprised.

When John got to his old room, what would be his and Mary's new room for an indeterminate amount of time, he was struck even more with that unnerving sense of loneliness and loss that he had felt when he had lived here before. Like the living room, it was mostly unchanged. All of his clothes and other belongings had been removed when he moved out but the walls still were decorated with his photos and his bed and desk looked untouched other than the fact that Mrs. Hudson had dusted and put new sheets on the bed in anticipation of their arrival. John had to smile a bit at that; hearing how pleased Mrs. Hudson was to have them there almost made some of it worth it.

John dropped the suitcases on the floor and sat heavily on the bed. He could feel the emotional toll of the past few days sinking into his bones like a physical ache and he just felt tired. Behind him he could feel Mary climb onto the bed and hug him from behind.

"It's hard for you to be here again, isn't it?" she asked, her voice warm and soft in his ear as her head rested on his shoulder.

John didn't want her to worry and he knew what he had Mary were doing really was the only option; John didn't want anything to happen to Sherlock. "It's just a lot of bad memories coming back. I'll get used to it again." John said, trying to sound alright.

He was cut off guard when Mary pulled him back down against the bed and straddled his lap. "Well, maybe you'll just have to make some new memories here that you can hold onto" she said in that devious, delicious way she had about her. When she leaned down to kiss him, John could already feel the sadness melting away into desire. Making new memories sounded like a good idea indeed.

…..

Sherlock loved what drugs did to his mind. Not the mind addling drugs at the hospital; they just made him feel slow, stupid and overly emotional not to mention so tired he couldn't fully come awake. He meant cocaine and heroin; sure, John could prattle on all he wanted about the dangers of it. But he didn't know…he didn't know the sweet touch of the drugs on his out of control mind. When he was on them, Sherlock's spiraling mind was able to slow down and really think. They brought him from the edge of hysteria and madness and allowed him to actually see things for what they were. He could take a problem or idea in mind, turn it around as if it was something physical and see all parts of it. Best yet, it numbed the emotions. He was finding most recently that when he was on them, he didn't think about Mary or John. He didn't think about the longing for warm skin on his, about the way Mary smiled that made him smile, about the softness of John's hair or the way he looked in jumpers. When he was on drugs he didn't think about Mary and John and how complete they were; how incomplete he was. And he certainly didn't have sweet, lonely dreams about realities where he fit somewhere magnificently between him. But, as was inevitable, Mycroft had succeeded in keeping him from the wonderful touch of the needle and he'd become desperate.

Sherlock had been careless and that wasn't like him. He wasn't even aware of what he had taken really. He'd felt that heat, that throat closing feeling of panic around his heart and he'd sought whatever he could to end it. Painkillers, sleeping pills and god knows what else…..he'd stuffed the pills into his mouth by the handfuls. Waking up in a puddle of his own vomit and urine, shaking uncontrollably and unable to move had been terrifying. It was not an experience he hoped to ever have again. He liked the rush of drugs but he hated being out of control and that's what he was. Despite what Mary and John believed, he hadn't wanted to die. He hadn't been trying to kill himself and he hadn't been looking for attention. He just…..wanted his mind to stop.

Yes, he enjoyed the effect of drugs on his mind but he detested the feeling they left his body with afterwards. Shaky, cold, sick and weak; it was not a good feeling. Even so, he'd grown somewhat used to managing the symptoms he'd done it so many times. But this, this was different. Since he didn't know what he'd taken and the experience was knew to him, his recovery was also new. And he didn't like it one bit.

Sherlock had slept most of the day and night, only to wake up in the middle of the night shaking with a fever and feeling cold. He had tried to sit up only to find his stomach lurching. He'd made it to the bathroom just in time and though he now had nothing left to give, that didn't stop his aching belly from trying to give up contents it didn't have. He had given up on sleep and simply made camp in the bathroom, clutching a wet flannel and waiting for the waves of cold chills to subside. He didn't often give into self-pity but at the moment he felt more like rubbish than he had in a long time. Sitting in the bathroom in the middle of the night, bathed in fluorescent light made everything depressing, especially how bored and alone he was. He truly bemoaned the loss of the beheading case he'd give up; he could be so delightfully employed. And he'd given it up for what? Just because John Watson had yelled at him? Because he didn't need him? Stupid sentiment…

Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin when the door of the bathroom burst open and Mary came in, looking pale as a ghost. "Sherlock…..you might want to…" she said in a shaky voice. Sherlock was sure that she was going to say "you might want to get out of here" but she didn't get that far. Stumbling over him to the toilet, Sherlock just had time to turn his head to avoid the sight of her getting sick. But it didn't protect him from the sounds of chocking and gagging and Sherlock pressed the flannel into his mouth and willed himself to not get sick until Mary's pitiful sounds were over.

When Mary had stopped vomiting, she sat down on the floor next to Sherlock, still looking green but better than she had when she came into the room. "Damn morning sickness…ready for this to be over" Mary said, laying her head against the wall and breathing deeply.

"Morning sickness can last for any length of a pregnancy. Hopefully it doesn't plague you long" Sherlock said. He'd meant it to be comforting but Mary didn't see it that way.

"Gee thanks…..if I have morning sickness my entire pregnancy I'll go insane" Mary said. She snatched the flannel out of his hand and began to wipe her face with it. Sherlock was about to tell her it had his own sweat and saliva all over it but she didn't seem to care so he didn't bother.

When Mary had cleaned herself up she looked more cheerful and like herself. She looked at Sherlock and seemed to take him fully for the first time since entering the bathroom.

"Withdrawal sickness?" Mary asked sympathetically, noting his pale pallor.

"Well, it's not morning sickness. No matter what you heard in the papers, I'm not having John Watson's baby too" Sherlock said sarcastically. To his immense surprise, Mary started giggling. Mary did that a lot; he'd say something completely normal and she'd start laughing. It made him like her more though he didn't know why.

"Surely they wouldn't really say that" Mary said between laughs.

"You'd be surprised" Sherlock said, not able to help smiling a bit at the melodic sound of Mary's laughter.

As the sounds of Mary's laughter died down, Sherlock felt the smile fall off his face. He was actually finding himself enjoying Mary's company, even in the fluorescent lighted darkness of depressing night. He was enjoying her and yet she shouldn't be here. John didn't want to be here and though Sherlock felt Mary's desire to be here was actually genuine, he just couldn't accept it.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself, you know. You shouldn't really be here. I'm inconveniencing you" Sherlock said flatly, wondering why, without the pain meds he still felt a lump forming in his throat.

"What was going through your mind when you took all those pills?" Mary asked thoughtfully as a while. She was good at asking questions he didn't expect. She was interesting and she took him off guard. No judgements, no arguments…..just a genuine question.

"Mycroft made it impossible to get heroin or cocaine. Impossible" Sherlock said angrily. "I didn't know what to do."

"You felt it was necessary to get drugs?" Mary asked. "Was that because of John?"

Sherlock felt a flare up of anger. "No" he said flatly.

Mary paused. "You told me about it earlier" she reminded him and Sherlock felt his face flush with color. He had said that…he had hold Mary about how he was afraid she and John would leave him. He'd even asked her for a hug…what was bloody wrong with him? Mary had touched him and looked at him and he had lost his shields.

"You told me you were afraid we'd leave you and I assured you we wouldn't" Mary said and Sherlock couldn't look at her. "I understand your need to take the drugs, to make the thoughts and loneliness go away. But we are here now…..you don't need them now."

Sherlock felt a stab to the stomach that had nothing to do with nausea. "John doesn't want to be here" he said flatly. John didn't want to be here and for some reason that bothered Sherlock.

"John's afraid he might like being here" Mary said and Sherlock could hear a smile in her voice.

Sherlock gave a humorless laugh. "Sure" he said.

He was surprised when Mary's hands were on his arms and turning him toward her. She was smiling broadly at him, looking warm and safe. How could she do that? When Sherlock looked at Mary she was a big question mark but she was safe. "Sherlock, you haven't the faintest idea how lost John was without you" Mary said. "He loves you…so much. Without you he was lost. He needs you but he felt betrayed by what you did. He wants to trust you but he'd scared. Give him time."

Sherlock want surprised by it but it still hurt. Damn John Watson for making him feel things but he did. He had jumped, had faked his death to save John and yet that act that had saved his life sought to ruin a part of their relationship Sherlock feared they'd never get back. John, who followed him, trusted him to a fault, who had once worshipped him, no longer trusted him. John saw him for what he was now and it made Sherlock sick to his stomach. There was nothing good to see behind his mask.

"I'm not good at being patient" Sherlock said, trying to sound humorous and it must have worked. Mary smiled at him warmly. She once again surprised him by putting a hand on his cheek and leaning in and giving him a kiss on the opposite cheek. She was sweaty and smelled like sick and so did he and that should have mattered but it didn't. Sherlock only felt warmth in his toes at the press of lips on his cheek. Warm lips, soft lips…lips that kissed John. He could feel genuine affection in the touch and it scared Sherlock to a degree. It scared him because he found himself wanting more of it.

"I'll help you be patient" Mary said, pulling back from his cheek. She stood up and held out a hand for Sherlock. "Let me help you back to bed?" she asked.

"I guess, if you want" Sherlock said, sounding aloof and irritated to cover up the real feelings he was having. Mary just smiled because she knew he wasn't annoyed.

Sherlock got off the floor, keeping his hand in Mary's more from want than to actually help him up. She walked him to his room, his sweaty, tousled bed and it was honestly the last place he wanted to be. Sherlock was sure that he couldn't possibly sleep now. But he'd at least lie down; he'd at least let Mary give him this comfort.

"Alright, in you go" Mary said, pulling back the covers and motioning Sherlock into the bed.

Sherlock felt a little silly, being tucked in like a child, but he climbed in nonetheless. Mary had a power to make him obey when she spoke that he didn't understand.

Mary tucked the covers around Sherlock, too tight, so tight he'd fix them immediately after she left but he liked the sensation of her hands moving around him. It was so strange; wanting to be touched. But he was finding he did enjoy it.

"There…sleep well, little detective" Mary said humorously, standing up after having tucked him in. "And you better not get out of this bed until the sun is up. You need your rest"

Sherlock smiled. "Are you a mind reader?" he asked. Somehow she seemed to sense that he'd be up and out of his bed within twenty minutes.

"Just a Sherlock reader. Now, go to bed. And in the morning we are making breakfast and you will eat it" Mary insisted.

John noted Sherlock's poor care of himself, bemoaning his terrible habits but he didn't force him to obey what he wanted. Mary did; Sherlock could see that already. She would make him sleep and eat and stay clean while she was here whether he wanted to or not. "I hate you, you know?" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Mary just grinned as she mirrored what she said at the hospital. "No you don't and neither do I"


	7. Chapter 7

John woke up the next morning surprisingly rested and feeling well. He'd expected to sleep restlessly in his old bed, haunted by memories of the past. Maybe he was coming closer to acceptance. Maybe it was just Mary's magical touch. Either way, he slept fantastically and he was reluctant to get out of the warm, comfortable cocoon of blankets in the bed.

It was even harder when Mary was peacefully sleeping next to him. Today was her day off and it made John even more reluctant to go to work. Feeling affection swell in his heart for her, John gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek before resigning to get out of bed and get ready. He knew Mary had had some sickness throughout the night and she really deserved to rest even though he wanted to wake her up. To tease her or snog her he didn't know; maybe both, he thought with a smile.

John took a shower, shaved and dressed in a comfortable pattern like he used to years ago. The only thing to remind him anything was different than it had been was the fact that he had to retrieve his clothes from a suitcase.

When John walked down the stairs and found Sherlock rifling through a pile of papers on the floor in his old rumbled pyjamas and dressing gown, he felt a sense of surrealism. It could have been like hundred other days he shared the flat with Sherlock. Unbidden and unwanted, John felt that familiar pull of desire; wanting to run around with Sherlock like they used to catching criminals, living free and recklessly. Just him and Sherlock…And almost instantly he felt that familiar tug of betrayal. It felt wrong somehow to want that now when he had Mary.

John made himself coffee and some toast noisily in the kitchen; he was surprised to find everything just where it had always been. Sherlock didn't look up once from what he was doing until John had sat down in his chair and addressed him specifically. Everything really was just as it had always been.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked, curious about the mismatch of paper around Sherlock. To John it looked like a bunch of rubbish but he knew to Sherlock it would make sense.

"Looking through some old case files" Sherlock said. "Since the criminals in this city seem intent on being boring, I have nothing better to do"

"Which ones are you looking at?" John asked, wondering if it was one he had worked on.

"The one with the hatchet lady" Sherlock said. John could tell that he tried not to grin but he couldn't help it.

Even John had to smile. "That was quite a case" he said smirking behind his coffee cup. "Who would have expected the little old lady who knitted sweaters for the church was actually killing ex-convicts with a hatchet? Well, who but you?"

"No one" Sherlock said with a touch of haughtiness. "That's why she got away with it for twenty years"

"That one was a nine if I ever saw one" John said, referencing Sherlock's own system for ranking crimes based on interestingness.

Sherlock gave him a sly glance. "Let's not be too generous. Eight at best" he said with a laugh.

"Maybe it was an eight until you tackled her and wrestled the hatchet from her hand and she called you a curly haired twat" John said laughing. "Have to say that bumps it up in my books"

"Well, it's not your books that count is it?" Sherlock said arrogantly but he was still smiling.

John didn't argue; he was just glad to see Sherlock smiling, see him acting normal and enjoying something. The past few days had been terrifying and John hoped Sherlock never put him through that stress and worry again. Knowing Sherlock though, he'd be in a life threatening situation soon enough and John would be worrying by his bedside again. He just hoped it wasn't him that caused it that time.

"We really had some good times" John said when the laughter subsided. He hadn't meant it to sound so morose but it did. God, he missed working with Sherlock….he missed being with Sherlock like it was an ache inside him deep and longing.

"I'm sure we have plenty of time for more adventures. Unless you're growing soft on me" Sherlock said, looking over his papers at him.

John huffed. "Don't count on me ever growing soft" he said honestly.

"Just round your middle, right?" Sherlock said with a laugh.

If John wasn't so happy to see Sherlock in a good mood, he'd act more insulted. "You just wait until you have Mary cooking for you for a while. Even you'll put on some pounds. Domestic bliss suits everyone well."

Sherlock's face fell slightly and he seemed to grow thoughtful and sad, so much so that John regretted saying anything. "John…I'm….." Sherlock stuttered out, laying his papers aside. "I want you to know I regret having…upset you."

John nearly chocked on the toast he was eating. Was Sherlock actually trying to apologize? "W-what do you mean?" John asked, trying to hide how shocked he was at Sherlock's statement lest he take it away.

Sherlock looked down and away from John, seeming uncomfortable. "I know you don't want to be here because of….my missing time. What I did to you…I'm…..sorry"

John was sure he'd never been so shocked in all of his life which was really saying something. "What did Mary say to you?" he asked. He knew that as heartfelt as an apology from Sherlock was, they weren't unprovoked. He wouldn't have said it on his own.

"Mary didn't say anything" Sherlock said earnestly even though it was clearly a lie. "I just wanted to…..well…just be happy again, okay? If you're going to live here, just try to get over it will you?"

John couldn't help but smile. Sherlock's sympathy could only go so far before he just wanted to be done with it. "Yeah, I'll try to do that" John said, giving Sherlock a nudge with his foot as he stood up to get ready to leave for work.

…

"I apologized to John!" Sherlock had been so eager to tell Mary about his trying to make amends that it came out like a yell the second that she had emerged from her bedroom, bleary eyed and yawning. He regretted sounding so eager; it made him sound needy and he hated needy people. But he knew Mary would be pleased and he couldn't waste time waiting for it to come up in normal conversation to tell her.

Sherlock was not disappointed. "Did you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and wide smile. She walked over to where he was sitting in his chair and sat on the arm next to him.

Sherlock felt a swelling in him of pride that he hadn't known in a long time. "Yes I did" Sherlock said. "I told him I was sorry for what I'd done, leaving him and he seemed to accept it. He thought you made me apologize but I told him it had nothing to do with you. He believed it of course."

"Sherlock, what an important step you made; a genuine apology" Mary gushed. "That's what I like to see"

Mary petted his hair, fingers running through his curls. Rather than feeling violated or condensing, Sherlock felt himself lap up the praise. Mary was so open it was easy to be open with her. He could talk; he could act in ways around her that he never could with John. And she was so _touchy…_ Sherlock had noticed it in the way that she interacted with John. Constant touches on the arms, shoulders, kisses on the cheeks and head, and hugs; Sherlock thought it was isolated in the way she acted with John but he was finding it was the same with him. She touched him a lot and he found it even stranger that he enjoyed it.

Sherlock felt the loss of it when Mary stood up and walked into the kitchen, leaving his hair more rumpled but alone. "Alright, what would you like for breakfast, Sherlock?" Mary asked from the kitchen amidst sounds of clanging pans and pots.

"Nothing" Sherlock said, scrunching his face up in disgust. He had far too much memories of having his head in a toilet to find anything appetizing.

"Now, Sherlock" Mary said in a chiding tone, sticking her head out from the kitchen. "We talked about this."

"No, you talked about this" Sherlock corrected her. "I never said I'd listen."

"But you will, won't you? You won't give me any trouble? You wouldn't give a poor, weak pregnant woman any trouble would you?" Mary asked, giving a dramatic pout.

 _God, this woman…_ Sherlock thought as he rolled his eyes. "Does that act work on John?" he asked with a laugh. "I'm sure it does but it won't work on me. I know you're anything but a poor, weak woman, pregnant or not."

"You're good" Mary said, pointing to him with an appraising look. "Come on though…..there must be something that you like to eat."

"My stomach feels like it's filled with hot coals; I am not eager to put any food into it" Sherlock said, rubbing his aching stomach. He'd never liked eating before the overdose but now his stomach permanently hurt. Maybe it would never be the same again.

"Your stomach hurts because you haven't eaten in days" Mary said.

"My stomach hurts because it keeps rejecting anything put in it" Sherlock argued. "It can do quite well without food for a few days." Sherlock was used to going a few days (or more) at a time without food and it didn't do him ill. Mary was just wrong, not surprising.

"Well, your body shouldn't be used to not eating for days. That's not healthy." Mary said

"Healthy" Sherlock said with a huff. "Who cares what's healthy?"

Sherlock was so intent on looking through his papers again he didn't notice Mary sneak up on him until she had crouched down in front of him in his view. "I happen to care a lot what's healthy for you" she insisted.

And there it was; that look, that tone…Sherlock didn't know how she did it but when looked at him with that concern, with care it made him believe that she really did care.

"Fine…I'll eat something" Sherlock said irritably only to earn a wide, happy Mary smile.

….

After some prodding and a lot of eye rolling, Mary had finally managed to get Sherlock to eat a few pieces of toast and some milk. Mary didn't press for anything more; she knew that Sherlock likely couldn't stomach more right now and she couldn't either. Her own stomach felt shaky at best but breakfast was an interesting and delightful affair. Mary turned on a court television program just to annoy Sherlock and though he huffed dramatically beside her on the couch they ended up watching the entire program as Sherlock deduced what had really happened in the cases, in all of which, everyone was lying. Mary laughed endlessly and she was glad to see even Sherlock smile a lot.

Mary was glad to see Sherlock show some happiness. She'd felt so guilty and responsible after he had overdosed and ended up in the hospital. She had underestimated his loneliness and how much he was affected by her and John's marriage. She wouldn't make that mistake again she vowed. Though Sherlock showed it to no one, he was really a very sensitive person and he needed care that he didn't know how to ask for. She could see his desire for approval in the way he obeyed what she told him and she could feel how much he appreciated and needed each touch she gave him. She was careful not to let him see that she knew all of this or that she was trying very subtly to add comfort to the small touches she lavished on him. If he knew she was doing this intentionally, Mary was sure that he would push it away. He obviously cared for John very much; Mary believed that he loved him whether he knew it or not. But he was too afraid to be vulnerable enough to show it to John.

Mary was surprised to have spent a whole afternoon watching crap telly with Sherlock and even more surprised how much he seemed to enjoy it. They talked and laughed and she had even managed to get him to eat a bit of soup for lunch. Feeling drowsy, Mary had leaned against the arm of the couch and gave in to a cap nap as Sherlock complained to the news on the television.

Mary lapsed into a warm, delightful unconsciousness. She felt as if she had dreamed something, something so alluring it made her feel even in a state of sleep that she could feel a heat and pressing against the middle of her legs as she slept. She felt her body twisting and moving in sleep, half way between sleep and consciousness. Ever since she had gotten pregnant she'd found herself often aroused upon waking, a thing that John was always glad to take advantage of.

Mary couldn't recall the dream that had spurred such a rush between her legs but as she slowly woke she was sure the press of the body against her must have been John returning from work and eager to slide into bed with her.

"John….." Mary muttered sleepily as she woke, smiling as her dreary eyes opened. What she found instead was far from John.

Mary jumped slightly as she awoke but it didn't seem to affect Sherlock's sleeping at all. Mary's memory came back and she remembered falling asleep on the couch. At some point, Sherlock must have fallen asleep too because he was leaning heavily on her, halfway in her lap, his head against her belly.

Mary suddenly felt a blush rush to her cheeks; she had been more than half way ready to take off her pants, thinking that John was there. Mary could only be relieved that Sherlock was not conscious when she'd had her warm dreams; she could just hear him tease her now.

Mary had made up her mind to gently slip away from Sherlock and the precarious position he was in when he stirred in his sleep, his arms reaching around her and affectively trapping her. His head tilted up toward her, mouth agape and made a small, whimpering sound. It was so cute, so juvenile that Mary wished she had a camera on her.

"John…."

Mary's face broke into a smile at the sound of John's name on Sherlock's lips as he slept. The little devil…he did it too! No matter how many times John denied it, John did say Sherlock's name in his sleep and it was now obvious that Sherlock did too. Mary wanted to tease him…but the way he grasped at her clothes in sleep, a frown on his brow, made her pause.

"You and John belong together…..how do neither of you see it?" Mary asked. As she whispered it, she began to toy with the soft curls on Sherlock's head, feeling a warmth spread her that she didn't want to identify.

Mary didn't even know she'd been secretly asking herself that question the whole time that she had known Sherlock until she spoke it but she had. She'd known long before she'd met Sherlock, Mary knew that his connection to John was more than simple friends. The way Sherlock's death affected John told her that. But once Sherlock came back into John's life and she saw the interaction between them it was nearly impossible not to see that they had a connection. Maybe she'd interrupted that by being here but she wasn't going to let that keep them from being together.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. John and I aren't going anywhere" Mary whispered, planting a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head.

….

John was in Sherlock's dream. They were running through the streets of London and Sherlock thought that it could have been the first night they'd been together, chasing the cabbie but it could have been one of a hundred times really. They ran and ran until Sherlock was suddenly on top of St. Bart's, falling, falling, falling…away from his life, away from John….away from everything that mattered. His dream changed and it was John and Mary kissing but it was as if Sherlock could feel Mary's hands in his hair instead of John's…

When Sherlock awoke he couldn't believe that the hand he felt in his dream was real. Sherlock tried to stay still as he could, afraid to mess it up. His head lay on Mary's stomach, her hand playing with his curls. Sherlock repressed a sigh but that didn't stop Mary from seeing him feign sleep.

"Have a nice nap, Sherlock?" Mary asked knowingly. Sherlock was relieved to see that she didn't stop playing with his hair. Normally, he wouldn't have been able to stand anyone touching his hair but with Mary…for some reason it made him feel weak.

"I don't nap" Sherlock said stubbornly even though he realized that sounded stupid. Then what was he doing if he wasn't sleeping? It made him look like an idiot and Sherlock was glad when Mary didn't comment on it.

"Did you have a dream about John?" Mary asked, a smile in her voice.

"What? No!" Sherlock said automatically. He pushed away from Mary, sitting up and putting some distance between them. How did she do that? It was his job to know things, not hers and he found it discerning.

"Then why did you say his name while you were sleeping?" Mary asked. She was grinning and Sherlock felt his cheeks growing warm; great, now he was giving in to blushing!

"I did not" Sherlock said, crossing his arms over his chest. Well, she could say he did it but that didn't mean he had to admit it.

"You did too. It's okay though, John does that too" Mary said.

Sherlock was so stunned that his head whipped toward Mary, disbelief flooding through him. She was making that up…..she had to be. "He does?" Sherlock asked. He hated himself a little that he gave into the curiosity but he did.

"Quite often really" Mary said, "You know, a lesser woman would be horribly jealous but not me. I get it."

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He felt like he was on the edge of that building again but in a different way; he was about to fall into something that he couldn't deny but something that he wanted very much.

Mary held out her arms toward Sherlock. "Come here, Sherlock" she said. For some reason, Sherlock fell into her.

Mary was warm and soft, like a pillow; he couldn't recall the last time that someone held him like this or the last time that he wanted someone to. Mary put her arms around Sherlock and he suddenly felt better; he felt like he could somehow hide this way.

"Why didn't you and John ever do anything about your feelings for each other?" Mary asked quietly as she held him against her chest.

Mary smelled delicious in a way that Sherlock couldn't describe; had she always smelled that way or was it some part of the hormonal change due to her pregnancy? Her question terrified Sherlock; she could see what he had so long denied to everyone, even himself. She was going to make him acknowledge it.

"It was never that way" Sherlock nearly whispered against Mary's chest.

"You can't lie to me, Sherlock. I see what other people don't" Mary prodded him.

"I mean, it was never that way for John" Sherlock said, "He dated, that's what he thought he wanted. I let him have it"

It hurt Sherlock to say that; it actually physically hurt him. He wanted to go back to the drug fueled oblivion where he didn't have to feel things. He wanted to go back to not feeling like there was a John and Mary shaped hole inside him that throbbed with each day alone. It never would have happened with John even if he had done something about it and it hurt to think it ever would have been another way. Sherlock was relieved when Mary didn't say anything more but just played with his hair and held him close.


	8. Chapter 8

_In case you didnt notice, I changed the rating on this story from T to M and though this chapter is pretty tame it begins to earn its M rating here :)_

John was tired that evening as he arrived home from the surgery. It felt strange yet again that arriving 'home' meant 221B but he had to admit that the constant thought of dread that had first filled him, with memories of the dark times following Sherlock's 'death' had faded away. In a way, it was nice to be back.

John had been constantly busy today; he'd not even had time to eat lunch there had been so much to catch up on. He was eager for Mary's delicious dinner and eager to sit down and share it with her. He'd gotten so used to having her around while they'd been on holiday he found that he missed her terribly.

When John stepped into their flat he was stunned at the sight that met his eyes.

"Ha! I got you! What does that make it? 20-0?" Mary asked with a laugh as she punched the buttons on the controller in her hand, a look of determination on her face.

Sherlock's mouth hung open in shock. "You cheater!" he said, pressing furiously at the buttons.

"Just because I'm beating you doesn't mean I'm cheating. It just means you suck" Mary said.

John walked further into the room but neither Mary nor Sherlock seemed to notice him. Mary and Sherlock…playing video games? They were both sitting on the couch, crossed legged in their pyjamas like two kids, elbowing each other to throw the other off from their game.

"Well, looks like someone's having a good time?" John remarked with a laugh as he watched them play.

Mary finally looked from the TV screen and noticed him. "John! You're home! How was work?" her question was genuine but her eyes were already yet again on the screen where her video game self threw a grenade at Sherlock's character and blew him up.

"Mary!" Sherlock said in indignation.

John couldn't help but laugh at the sight. He ignored the question, much preferring to talk about it when they weren't so engaged and asked the question burning in mind. "How'd you get Sherlock to play Call of Duty? He never would play any video games with me. I recall him saying it was a 'mindless waste'?"

Before Mary could speak, Sherlock turned toward him with a haughty expression. "Maybe Mary's just more charming than you" he said, sticking his tongue out before turning back to the screen to chase Mary.

"She certainly is" John agreed. He was glad to see Sherlock was enjoying something as simple as a game; John always thought it would help his genius mind if he thought of a normal past time to settle it as opposed to the drugs he held on to. The sooner that Sherlock could get healthy, the sooner he could be on his own.

John looked toward the kitchen but when he didn't automatically see dinner he said, "Hey, what's for dinner?"

Mary's expression turned sheepish. "I'm sorry, honey" she said, looking at him apologetically, "I must have gotten carried away with this stupid game. I forgot all about it."

John was disappointed but he didn't let it show; after all, he hardly expected Mary to have dinner waiting on him every night like a housewife out of the dark ages. "That's alright. I'll just order us all something" John said brightly. "It's not like we aren't used to eating take away most of the time anyway."

"Thanks, sweetheart" Mary said in that sweet tone of hers that could get John to do almost anything, before she turned back toward the TV.

Heaving a sigh, John walked toward his bedroom, feeling the weariness of the day settle into his muscles. He lay down on the bed and closed the door behind him, closing off the savage sounds of Mary and Sherlock's game play. John closed his eyes but willed himself not to go to sleep; at least his mind was swirling with thoughts.

He half expected Sherlock to have burned down the flat while he was gone; he was sure that Mary's presence was the only thing that had prevented that. At worst, he had been expecting all day to receive a frantic call from Mary saying that Sherlock was trying to go out or search for drugs. So, he was glad, very glad that Mary and Sherlock seemed to have enjoyed themselves. If the worst thing that they had done was get immersed in a game and forget about him then he should count his blessings. But…if that was all that it was, then why did he feel that he had missed something?

….

Over the next week, Sherlock still got no hint of a case and he was really beginning to grow bored and feel dull. It wasn't so bad when Mary or John had a day off. With John around, things felt like they always had; they would settle into their routines as if they had never left each other. John would watch telly, piddle with his computer or try to clean around the flat and Sherlock would do his best to annoy him. Annoying John was entertaining. Sherlock did his best to try and forget the conversation he'd had with Mary about John. He'd never been known to forget anything but he thought if he could just not think about it maybe the realization would fade from his mind. He wanted no part of the thinking that at some point in his relationship with John he could have had more. If he did, he grew conflicted. If he and John had become more there would be no Mary and that was unthinkable. But really it came down to the fact that he was a relationship train wreck and he could have never made things work in a 'normal' way and John cared very much about being normal.

The very best days were when Mary had the day off with Sherlock. Being with Mary was simple; Sherlock felt that he could be himself with her. He wasn't sure exactly who that was; all he knew was that she didn't look at him and expect him to be brilliant and together all of time. He almost felt as if he could be vulnerable with her and it was okay; she wouldn't judge him and she wouldn't tell anyone, even John. They'd spend a lot of time talking about John but Mary didn't push him about discussing his 'feelings' which he appreciated. Mary was still as touchy as ever and Sherlock found himself keeping track of the physical contact between them; she had given him approximately ten hugs, held his hand four times, rubbed his back once and given him two warm, lasting kisses on his cheek. Sherlock was using useful brain space keeping track of each of these interactions but, especially without a case, he found no reason to forget it.

The worst days were when John and Mary both had work and were gone for hours on end. Telly was terrible and the video games were dull without Mary. There was nothing pertaining to a case to keep his mind occupied and it was at these times that it was hardest to keep his mind off the drugs. His mind would race, uncontrolled, with nothing to entertain it. After a particularly long day, he had given into his vices as much as he thought possible to get away with. The cigarette smoke was sweet after so long an absence, edging his nerves and making him calm. He was halfway through a pack when Mary finally came home and caught him.

"Sherlock Holmes, what are you doing?" Mary asked with indignation, but not too much indignation, as she came into the room filled with clouds of tobacco smoke.

Sherlock, obviously caught, made a show of slowly finishing his current cigarette. "Surely you're intelligent enough to figure that out" he said haughtily.

Mary opened the windows, shooing away smoke with her hands. She walked over, took the nub of a cigarette out of his hands and tossed it out the window.

"Hey!" Sherlock said, affronted. He crossed his arms but didn't make an effort to stop her.

Mary scooped up the pack of cigarettes out of his hands and held it. "You want me to not tell John about this, you make this disappear and we'll try to make this flat smell like normal again" she said, tossing the pack toward him with a small wink.

Sherlock caught the pack, feeling stunned. "You're not…angry or anything?" he said.

Mary retrieved a can of air freshener from the bathroom and sprayed it across the room. "Sherlock, if the worst thing you're getting up to while we are at work is smoking, I count that as a victory" she said, lightening several scented candles. "John, might not feel the same way."

Mary smiled at Sherlock as she walked to the kitchen, and Sherlock felt himself smile back. Getting up quickly, he went to his bedroom and hid the pack of cigarettes under his mattress. Mary really wasn't so bad; maybe one day he would tell her so.

When Sherlock returned to the sitting room, the smoke was dissipating and Sherlock took one, last long, fond sniff. Mary was busying herself in the kitchen and noticed when he returned.

"Ah, Sherlock, you're back. Just in time to help me with dinner" Mary said brightly.

Sherlock leaned against the doorway and looked curiously at the ingredients Mary was setting out. "Why would I want to do that?" he asked bluntly.

Mary grinned widely. "Because I'm making John's very favorite and if you help me I'll give you all the credit" she said slyly.

"So? What makes you think I care about that?" Sherlock asked, feigning indifference.

Mary laughed. "Trust me, John will be impressed" she said. "Come here, I'll show you what to do."

Sherlock had the urge to tell Mary he could care less about John's stupid preferences and stalk off to his room. But aside from the fact that he just didn't want to be alone after all of the loneliness of the day, he found he did care about what John thought even though he really didn't want to.

"Fine" Sherlock huffed, coming closer to see what Mary was doing, "I'll humor you."

As Mary began to outline the details of how she made John's favorite lasagna, Sherlock could help but blurt out. "Why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?" Mary said, stirring the sauce in the pan.

"Why do you care what John thinks of me? Why don't you want him to think less of me instead of more?" Sherlock asked. People could sure be confusing sometimes; when love was involved, he always found that people could be at their most selfish.

Mary stopped what she was doing and looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock, if I had even tried to keep John away from you, he would have hated me forever" she said simply.

Mary hadn't said any of it with pity or self-loathing but Sherlock still found himself unduly embarrassed. "Mary, don't-" he started but Mary cut him off.

"I'm not trying to embarrass you" Mary said with a smile. "But it is the truth. Before I even met you, I could see the impact you left on John. He was a mess without you; I've never seen anyone grieve the way that he grieved for you. That kind of impact is left by a very deep bond and when I did meet you I could see it. He may have acted angry that you were back but it was just a defense; he was upset you left him for so long. You couldn't see how greatly you affected him just like he can't see that your drug problem coming back is because you're so upset that he left you this time"

Sherlock felt heat radiating on his face. He had to stop her; had to stop her from saying all of those personal, emotional things. "Mary, really….." he started but she cut him off again.

"Sherlock, you're going to let me finish because one way or another, I'm going to make you and John see what you're refusing to see" Mary said firmly. "I could have done nothing to keep John away from you; he'd have been unhappy forever and he would have blamed me. But it's okay…I'm not upset about it. I like you too Sherlock. You don't have to worry about being in the middle of us. We like you being in the middle" Mary leaned over and gave him a hug; hug number eleven. Sherlock soaked in the touch, committing it to memory, along with the words, _We like you being in the middle,_ wishing it were true.

….

Sherlock fingers glided over the violin, letting himself get lost in the sad notes, focusing on nothing but them. They made their way into his mind, slowed his heart, and made him feel a peace that few things could. He wished that he could let himself fall into them, never to return but even then, nearing the end of the piece he could feel that sense of wellbeing slipping away.

"Such a sad piece of music, Sherlock" Mary remarked when he had stopped.

Sherlock opened his eyes and turned around, having forgotten that Mary was there. She was sitting in John's chair, watching him carefully. The scent of cigarettes had all but faded from the room, filled now with the almost done lasagna. John would be home any time now.

"Play something happy" Mary said with smile, looking eager.

"Maybe I don't want to play something happy" Sherlock said stubbornly.

"I know, you should play that song you played for me and John at our wedding" Mary said, ignoring his comment. "I did ever so much love it."

"That was…intended to be a onetime deal" Sherlock said, averting his eyes. He recalled the pain, the sick feeling in his stomach as he had played that tune and was not eager to repeat it. He'd done it for them, to make them happy that day but the memory if it was tainted by loneliness and drug fueled dreams.

"Well, if it makes you too sad, you don't have to" Mary said off handily.

Sherlock whipped back toward her; the song did make him sad but he couldn't let Mary know that. "It doesn't make me sad" he said.

Before Mary could argue, Sherlock began the notes that he had only played once. His stomach was in knots but he bit back the sadness, the feeling of lost dreams. Mary got up from her seat in John's chair and began to spin around the room, dancing. Her skirt swirled around her like flower petals, her face broke into a smile. Sherlock felt slightly sick to his stomach but he kept going; all because of Mary.

Sherlock didn't get so much lost in the notes as he did in Mary. He found it was easier, and much more enjoyable, to focus on her and not the song that made him feel like something inside him was missing. He was so focused that he didn't notice John enter the room until he had spoken.

"I thought I knew that tune" he said with a smile as he watched Mary dancing.

"John" Mary said with a smile. She danced around the room until she met him, kissing him long and lingering on the lips. Sherlock pretended that he didn't notice.

"How was your day?" Mary asked, when she and John had broken apart.

"Much better now that I get to dance with a beautiful woman" John said, taking Mary's hands in his and beginning to dance around the room.

As Sherlock played, he found it was no longer so easy to forget that pit feeling in his stomach. Watching Mary had made it easy; watching them both it was too hard. Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on the notes.

Sherlock was relieved when he finished the song and immediately put his violin down lest they want another song; he felt drained. "I think dinner's ready" Sherlock said in an announcing voice, rousing John and Mary from their own little world.

"Well, it smells fantastic" John said, beaming at Mary. "I'd know that smell anywhere. You're in for a treat, Sherlock. Mary makes the best lasagna ever."

"Actually, I taught Sherlock my recipe and he made it tonight" Mary said, looking from John to Sherlock with an eager eye.

John looked confused for a moment before he walked over to Sherlock. He put a hand to Sherlock's forehead. "What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, nearly jumping at the touch.

"I was just checking to make sure you didn't have a temperature" John teased. "You really cooked dinner?"

Sherlock smiled a little but repressed any outward signs he was pleased at the look of surprise on John's face. "Well, it really wasn't that complicated" he said with an air of boredom.

"I'm impressed" John said with a nod and gestured toward the kitchen. "Come on, let's go try it out."

Sherlock only let the smile spread when John had walked out of the room. Mary grinned at him. "See, I told you" she said knowingly before following John into the kitchen.

…

John had to admit that life at 221B wasn't half bad. Sherlock seemed to be doing better, Mary seemed happy with the arraignment and John had to admit that he was glad to be around Sherlock again. Despite his protests, he had missed him. And, best of all, Mary seemed to be really doing him some good. Sherlock was politer, more thoughtful and kinder under Mary's influence. His lasagna had been delicious and after dinner and a few glasses of wine, they'd been able to persuade Sherlock to some more violin playing. To John, it almost felt as if they were a family. A dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless.

"You've got a way with him, I've got to say that" John said, reading the day's paper in bed that evening. "If I ever so much suggested that he make any food he'd have laughed in my face."

"Must be my magic touch" Mary said, her voice close to him.

When John continued to pursue the paper, Mary spoke again. "John, are you going to read that damn paper all night?" she asked.

John was stunned when he looked up to see Mary without the robe she'd worn from the shower…..and also without anything else on. She was completely, beautifully naked. John tossed the paper to the floor and he felt an interested stirring in his pants.

"What paper?" John asked with a smile as he threw off his clothes in record speed and pulled Mary onto his lap.

"You know, you can't just dance with me all night and be charming and romantic and then expect to neglect me" Mary said in a dramatic pout. She was teasing but John would let her tease him any time.

"Trust me, I don't plan to ignore you at all." John said with sly smile. He shifted Mary on his lap just slightly, just enough to move inside her, a collective gasp issuing from both of them.

…..

Sherlock gave up trying to sleep. He had lain in his bed for a good hour before he gave up and went into the sitting room. Even in the sitting room he couldn't ignore the sounds of Mary and John in the room above him, very savagely ravaging each other. Sherlock sat down in his chair, wishing for something to do. He could turn the telly on; at least them he wouldn't hear them anymore. But he didn't do that…though the sounds of Mary's gasps and John's ragged breathing cut him to the core he found himself frozen in his chair listening to it. After retrieving the bottle of wine he and John had been drinking for dinner, he closed his eyes and gave in to his deductive powers.

Mary was on top, sitting on John's lap. Her breath came out faster, more hurried than John's as she moved quickly on top of him. John's hands must have been moving along Mary's soft, smooth skin, causing shivers as he did so because there was the occasional hitch in her breathing at that; Sherlock seemed to feel his own goosebumps appear on his skin. He could tell when John decided to be on top because he heard the squeak of his mattress and the change in force of thrusts from feminine and gentle to male and rough. Mary began to call out louder, began to say John's name; Sherlock's breath caught in his own throat as he finished off the last of the wine and the let the bottle hit the floor.

He was used to John being so thoughtless and careless. Sherlock had become used to the sounds of John's lovemaking over the years but it didn't make it easier to hear. Countless girlfriends had been at their flat, in John's arms while Sherlock could hear it all; he was sure he knew more about what John did and didn't like than any of his previous lovers. Mary was the only person who he'd give credit to know John at all.

Sherlock's head was swirling with drink but he still felt a lump in his throat. He kept waiting for the alcohol to kick in, to make it go away. For some reason, it seemed to make it worse. Joining the lump in his throat was blurriness to his eyes. Was he crying? No….but his body seemed to want him to. Why? His deductions were getting less and less as the alcohol filled his blood and his ears could hear the sound of John's moaning that told him he climaxed. Despite his confusion, when Sherlock closed his eyes there was water that came out.


	9. Chapter 9

As John began to doze gently beside her, Mary slipped out of bed, threw on John's discarded t-shirt and slipped down toward the kitchen for a drink and a snack. Darn pregnancy hormones; half the time she was throwing up and the other half she was having cravings for every food under the sun. Now, even though she should be thoroughly tired, she was hungry and she knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep until she'd gotten some food in her. This time, she didn't even know what she was craving.

Mary walked down the stairs and through the darkened sitting room. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she walked into the kitchen and found Sherlock leaning against kitchen counter, sipping a beer and staring at the floor.

"Ah! Sherlock" Mary said, jumping slightly as she saw him, "I didn't expect you to be up this late"

Sherlock looked up from where he was staring at the floor and Mary suddenly wished she had worn something else; she was suddenly very aware of how short John's shirt was on her. For once, Mary couldn't read Sherlock's expression. His eyes were glazed, intoxicated, but other than that they were clouded with emotion.

"There are many nights I don't sleep" Sherlock said, "Usually, it's because I have a case to solve. This time it's because you and John are very loud canoodlers"

Mary cringed; she was relieved that it was dark enough that Sherlock wouldn't be able to see it. Under normal circumstances she would laugh at hearing Sherlock say 'canoodle'. But now it was just embarrassing.

"Sorry" Mary said sheepishly, coming to lean against the counter next to Sherlock. "You know, you can bang on the door and tell us to be quieter"

"Whatever…I'm used to it" Sherlock said, finishing off his beer. His voice sounded very strange and distant; again, Mary couldn't quite place it.

"We'll keep it down" Mary said weakly, grabbing a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and making for a hasty exit. She could sense this conversation going in an odd direction and she was going to forgo the snack to get away from it.

Mary was nearly out of the room when she heard Sherlock speak behind her. "What's it like, Mary?"

Mary turned around. This time, she could place both Sherlock's look and his voice and it broke her heart. He was staring at her with wide, vulnerable eyes, eyes that she knew were reserved only for her. His voice shook slightly, betraying any strength he normally had.

"What's what like?" Mary asked.

Sherlock paused, his face conflicted in the light of the moon streaming through the window. "Being loved like that by John?" he asked.

Mary could feel her heart breaking inside her chest. She should feel angry or upset, shouldn't she? Shouldn't she be upset her husband's best friend was clearly in love with him? But she wasn't, not even close. "Oh, Sherlock….." Mary said, sympathy dripping from her voice. She walked toward Sherlock, against her better judgement, and wrapped her arms around him in a strong hug. As soon as Mary's arms were around him, Sherlock's head fell against her shoulder, as if collapsing against her.

"Why did you do this to me, Mary?" Sherlock asked. His voice trembled and Mary was almost afraid he was crying; is that what happened when you got enough alcohol into Sherlock? He'd finally cry and admit he loved John? She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he sniffled a deep breath in.

"Do what to you?" Mary asked, running her hand along Sherlock's back in what she hoped was a comforting motion.

"Make me feel this….make me own up to it" Sherlock said. "I want to go back to when I didn't know I wanted to be with John."

Mary surprisingly only felt sympathy for Sherlock. How many years had he harbored feelings for John and now he was only just accepting it; accepting it when it was too late. "But didn't you always know, really, that you felt this way?" Mary asked gently. Surely, some part of him did.

Sherlock held onto Mary tighter, taking fistfuls of John's shirt in his hands until the shirt road up dangerously high on her bum but she didn't stop him. His face was pressed in her neck and she could feel his breath on her neck.

"It would be so much easier if I could hate you" Sherlock said, a note of sweet sorrow in his voice.

"Too bad we like each other" Mary agreed. She felt like she should let go of Sherlock, should put some distance between them but she didn't want to. It felt good to have Sherlock in her arms, letting her comfort him, and she knew that he needed her.

When Mary finally did pull back, she grabbed his head between her hands and pulled back, looking into his eyes. She almost wished she hadn't because the look of love and loss in his eyes was so deep she would never forget it.

"Sherlock…" Mary tried to say something but that was as far as she got.

She felt every warm pressure point where Sherlock touched her along her body very keenly before she was swept away by the sensation of lips on hers.

Sherlock tasted like beer and tobacco but his lips were smooth against hers. He was hesitant for all of a second before he was pressing her against the counter, hands in her hair, kissing her harder, urging her lips into action. She felt frozen for a moment before her lips began to move along Sherlock's. Her heart was beating out of her chest as her hands slid up from his back to the luscious, silky locks on his head. Mary had playful touched his hair a few times, mere petting, but this was different. As she felt Sherlock's tongue prod her lips and she opened her mouth to it, her fingers sunk deep into his hair, feeling curls between all of her fingers.

Mary had thought Sherlock was a novice and that just proved she didn't know everything. Sherlock's tongue was like velvet, stroking the tip of her tongue until she wrapped around his, moving in deeper until Mary could forget where her mouth stopped and his began. Sherlock's long fingers wove through her hair until they came to her ears, stroking them so gentle it caused Mary to shiver.

Whatever was left of Mary's desire from earlier was quickly reigniting and she was very aware now that she wasn't wearing knickers as a wet spot formed between her legs. Sherlock's mouth finally broke away from hers but she didn't have time to think; his lips instantly touched the spot below the hollow of her neck, tongue licking her so slowly there she felt goosebumps go up her neck. With her mouth needing something to do, it found its way to Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's hands moved along her arms, across her sides and on her hips; when they came to rest on her half way exposed bum, Mary's teeth sunk into Sherlock's neck harder than she meant to, causing the most delicious growl to issue from him. God, she could only imagine what the man might sound like during sex; a rush of wetness came to her at the realization that she wanted to know. With reckless abandon, Mary bit harder, pulled on Sherlock's flesh more to hear that gasping sound again.

With more muscle than Mary would have imagined he had, Sherlock lifted Mary up onto the counter as if she didn't weight anything. Her bare skin touch cold tiles and she felt her hands blindly push tea cups around to get purchase before they fell off and crashed onto the kitchen floor. It was finally enough to snap Mary out of it.

As the cups crashed and broke on the floor and Mary worried it would wake John, it hit her. What was she doing? John would be furious if he could see what they were doing and the worst part of it was that Mary was as guilty as Sherlock was.

As soon as Mary pulled back, Sherlock's eyes met hers and she could see her fear mirrored there. His cheeks were flushed, his hair wonderfully fussed, his lips swollen as he burst out, "I'm sorry"

He looked so guilty; it only made Mary feel guiltier. Rather than tell him it wasn't his fault, Mary took the coward's way out and fled the kitchen.

Leaving poor Sherlock confused in the kitchen, much worse off than she had found him, she ran up to her and John's room, holding her Sherlock kissed lips the whole time.

….

Sherlock didn't sleep. He might have dozed on and off throughout the night but when morning came he was staring up at his bedroom ceiling with red, burning eyes, feeling like he had less sleep than when he went to bed that night. His head pounded, his stomach ached and everything swirling in his memories made him rue the moment he started drinking.

He had kissed Mary…why had he done that? He wanted to believe that the alcohol was entirely at fault for making him do that but he knew enough to not be able to logically blame it on that. He liked Mary; he'd known that for a while. Ever since he'd met Mary he'd been taken by her unusual intelligence and charm. She wasn't like other people and that was very refreshing for Sherlock. He could talk to her like he couldn't talk to most people. She was _smart_ and like the Woman had once said, smart was sexy, especially for people like them.

But he'd never thought much of it; it wasn't like he was in love with Mary or anything. But when John and Mary had moved in with him, he'd seen a different side of Mary. He could see that he could be vulnerable with her; he could need her and it was okay. He enjoyed her touches and that was surprising to him because he didn't often enjoy people touching him. But what had happened with Mary in the kitchen…that was not him at all.

Sherlock rolled over in bed, curling up under the covers. He could hear distantly the sound of Mary and John talking in the kitchen but he couldn't hear what they were saying. Just thinking about going down to the kitchen and seeing Mary made Sherlock's stomach squirm in a way that was indignantly unlike him.

Sherlock had _liked_ it; there was no doubt about it. Kissing Mary was beautifully pleasant. He'd not even made up his mind to do it but by the time he realized what he was doing, Mary was already kissing him back and it became hard for even his brilliant mind to think. Kissing Mary could render him dumb….. _interesting._

He'd been surprised by the strength of his feelings, hearing Mary and John upstairs last night. Even under the covers Sherlock could feel his face burn with a blush as John's face came to his mind. It hurt and he didn't want it to. Mary had been so understanding about it; he'd felt warm and safe in her arms, things he rarely felt. He had told Mary that he cared for John and rather than judge him, she had comforted him. In a moment of heartbreak over John, he'd kissed Mary and Mary had kissed him back. _Interesting…_

Sherlock found he couldn't dwell too much on the happiness that he felt that Mary kissed him back. As he'd kissed her, she had smelled like John and while that was a smell that he found he couldn't help but enjoy, it reminded him that only minutes before she was in the kitchen with him she was in bed with John and that that was very reason he was upset in the first place. The second that she pulled away, he'd gotten scared; he could see the fear in Mary's eyes as well. The way that Mary had ran away from him actually scared him. Would she say something to John? Was she upset he'd kissed her? Talking to Mary again could only promise a huge amount of all of the messy emotional interactions he was so horrible at handling.

Sherlock was lying in bed, waiting for John and Mary to leave when he heard a loud thumping on the stairs, followed by the door of his bedroom being flung open. Sherlock poked his head out from under the covers to see a bright, smiling John standing next to his bed.

"John…get out!" Sherlock said, feeling flustered at John's suddenly appearance in his bedroom. That was supposed to be his job; barging into every aspect of John's personal life.

"No, sleepyhead. Get up!" John said, looking entirely too happy to be existing in Sherlock's opinion.

John wrenched the covers off the bed and Sherlock growled at him. "I'm tired" he grumbled. He closed his eyes, glad that John couldn't see his guilt like Sherlock would be able to see it on him.

"I made breakfast and you're getting up" John said happily. "Mary and I are about to leave. I don't want you staying in bed all day. Get up and come eat some breakfast."

"You made breakfast?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"Of course. You made such a nice dinner last night I thought I'd return the favor. Now get up! You look as worn out as Mary this morning." John said, motioning for Sherlock as he left the room.

Sherlock sat up, following John reluctantly. Sherlock had kissed his wife and now he was making him breakfast? Guilt sunk into Sherlock's stomach like a stone. All the feelings…so many feelings….Sherlock was not at all happy about it. He needed a case before this got out of hand.

When Sherlock made his way down to the kitchen he found John and Mary in the middle of a conversation about some senseless work detail and he tried to slip in unnoticed. Seeing a table filled with pancakes, bacon and eggs, Sherlock grabbed a few items and put them on his plate without having any taste for them.

Sherlock's eyes drifted from Mary to John as John prattled on about his irritation with another coworker as work. Sherlock stared back forcefully at his plate and began to eat his food tastelessly. When he looked up from his plate once more, Mary's eyes were firmly staring at him. He felt a flip in his stomach; Mary's face was expressionless and Sherlock hated that he couldn't read what she was thinking. Covertly, Mary pointed to her neck, motioning for Sherlock to pull up his collar. Realizing Mary was pointing to the huge bite on his next, Sherlock pulled his dressing gown collar up to cover it up. As his fingers brushed it, he felt a sweetly sore bruise and recalled the bite to his neck that gave it to him. Sherlock began to feel tingly in his toes as he recalled the feel of Mary's teeth sinking into his skin, her lips brushing against him…

"Earth to Sherlock?"

At the sound of John's voice Sherlock jumped, his silverware and his cup of tea crashing to the table.

"What?" Sherlock snapped, a little nastier than he meant to. When he looked at John he was only smiling at him.

"You going to be okay? You act like you're on Mars or something" John said with a laugh.

"I'm fine" Sherlock said, staring at his reflection in the spilt tea on the table. Beside him, John and Mary were already standing up to get ready to leave for the day. "You're leaving already?"

"Yeah, we're already twenty minutes late" John said, "If we don't leave now we won't hear the end of it. You have a good day, Sherlock. We'll see you for dinner"

Sherlock watched John and Mary walk out of the room, his sick feeling increasing. "Bye Sherlock" John called happily over his shoulder as he left.

Mary looked over her shoulder as she left but she didn't say goodbye like she always did. As was often the case with Mary, Sherlock couldn't read her as she left.

…..

Mary saw a few patients that morning but overall it was a slow morning and she was relieved. The toddler with chicken pox, the elderly lady with arthritis and expectant mother she saw that morning kept her mind off the previous night but the moment she was back in her office staring at paper work, her mind was uncontrollably on Sherlock.

What had she been thinking last night? Mary should have known she was playing with fire, with Sherlock in the headspace he was in. She knew he really enjoyed the affection she gave him. She was aware that he didn't get that from anyone; perhaps he didn't want that from anyone. Even so, Mary never expected Sherlock to kiss her. She expected to give into the kiss even less. When Sherlock kissed her, she should have gently let him down. Instead, she'd kissed him back even more passionately, sending the completely wrong idea. Worse still, she had fled without a single explanation. She could only imagine the wrong idea she'd give him.

But…..had she given him the wrong idea? By kissing Sherlock, what messaging was she sending him? Undoubtedly she was sending him the idea that she liked him and was looking for more in their relationship. Was that true? Her first answer was no…her gut answer, at least in her most secret parts, was yes.

Mary lay her head down on her desk and closed her eyes. Every time she did close her eyes, she kept reliving the kiss. The expert way Sherlock's lips and tongue teased her, the way his fingers felt on her skin, making it come alive…..she'd hardly been able to sleep last night for it. Guilt wracked her, imagining Sherlock while she lay in bed next to John but that didn't mean she could stop. John would be no doubt horrified if he knew.

Or…would he?

Sherlock had finally taken a huge step in admitting not just to her but to himself that he had feelings for John. She'd known that for a long time, of course, but getting him to admit it to himself was an entirely different matter. Mary knew now, and had suspected it for a long time, that John had feelings for Sherlock. She didn't think that John was fully aware of how deep his feelings were; he was even less willing to admit it even if he did know it. Neither one would admit it, but Mary highly suspected that either one would give in, if only the other one would first. No matter what John said, Mary knew that he and Sherlock had a bond that couldn't be explained and if Sherlock had never disappeared, he would not have sought her out. It didn't make her bitter; life happened just how it happened and she was glad for how it turned out. But had Sherlock still been around, Mary knew that John would not have sought married life. John would never admit it and maybe he didn't even know he felt that way but part of him wanted to go back to the way life had been when it was just the two of them.

Mary looked up from her desk to the photo setting there. It was a photo from her and John's wedding day, with Sherlock standing stoically beside them. They were a mess but there wasn't a doubt that this odd trio encompassed the closest thing to a family she'd ever had. She loved John; he was her husband and soon to be the father of her child. He had become everything to her. But at the same time she had a very consuming, warm affection for Sherlock. He was rude and cold on the outside but Mary was privileged to see the vulnerable, caring person he was underneath all of that and he had become a dear friend to her. When she recalled their kiss the previous night she knew friend didn't exactly encompass what she felt but she was still trying to figure out it was that she somehow cultivated two completely different loves for two completely different men at the same time.

Mary recalled then her college roommate. Mary hadn't known what to think when she'd met her roommate's boyfriend…and girlfriend. At the time Mary had been young and somewhat naïve, at least naïve to what she was now, and thought that her roommate was signing up for emotional disaster. Mary couldn't possibly believe that anyone could stand the jealously of sharing their partner. But what Mary hadn't realized at the time was that her roommate and her girlfriend didn't _share_ the boyfriend; they were all together. They all exchanged affection together with the full knowledge and consent of each other. Over time, she saw they were genuinely, completely happy; it worked for them. At the time, Mary found herself wishing for a relationship that was so open and unique, so full of love.

Why couldn't they have that? Mary found herself wondering this as she sat alone in her office, a smile coming to her face as the dangerous idea came to her head. Sherlock would be completely for the idea Mary knew. He wouldn't mind to share John with Mary if only it meant he got to have John too. Mary was all for going with it; how could she not be when she would have the affection of two intelligent, handsome men? She didn't mind sharing John in the least; she had to admit she had some deep, secret fantasies of the consulting detective and his assistant in some sordid situations and she would enjoy seeing them come to life.

John…..John was the issue. It was all about approaching it in the correct manner. If she directly or even indirectly came about it in the wrong way, John would not be happy. Mary didn't want to ruin what she already had with John by trying to grab for more. John, for the sake of his pride and sexuality, would reject a relationship with Sherlock if she did it the wrong way. But she knew if she could only get him to agree, they would all be far happier than they were now. They would all get to live out their desires and they would all feel completely loved. What could be wrong with that?

Mary was trying to turn her ideas back to work when there was a knock on the door. Mary said "Come in" without looking from her computer and was only roused from her thoughts when John came to lean on her desk.

"You about ready for lunch?" John asked, giving Mary a kiss to the top of her head.

Mary smiled at the touch, shrugging off the guilt of the night before. "Yeah, I don't have any appointments until 1:30" she said. "Slow morning."

"I have one at 11:45 but then I'll be free for an hour" John said, "It's been pretty quiet for me too."

John glanced down at saw the wedding photo sitting flat on the desk where Mary had left it, smiling as he picked it up. "Nice picture isn't it?" Mary asked with a grin. "You look very dashing in it."

"Not nearly dashing enough to be standing next to someone so pretty" John said sweetly. "Though, I think that was about the tenth photo that Sherlock bombed."

"Well, of course he naturally thought that being the best man meant he had to be by our sides the entire course the wedding" Mary said with a laugh before getting more serious. "I thought it was charming, really. He was trying to do a good job."

"Yeah, charming…that's what we will call it" John said with a snort of laughter. "You can always count on Sherlock to be 'charming'"

"Well, I'm sure plenty of women find him charming, don't you think?" Mary asked, smiling to herself at her own subtlety. She had to start planting ideas about Sherlock somewhere.

John looked confused for a moment before laughing slightly. "I wouldn't know really" he said, thrown by the question. "I suppose he can have a façade of charm when he's trying to get information out of someone but as far as intentional charm…I don't think so."

"So…he's never had a girlfriend then? That you know of?" Mary asked curiously. Obviously she was a bit too curious because John frowned again, as if catching onto her.

"No" John said quickly. "I've known Sherlock for years and he's never had a girlfriend. I've never seen him particularly interested in having one either. He always seemed rather irritated that I gave into the entirely human need for companionship by dating."

 _Because he couldn't stand to see you with all of those women and never looking his way,_ Mary thought but kept the thought to herself. "No boyfriends either then?" Mary asked with a shrug.

Now John was definitely suspicious. "No…" he said slowly. "Why are you suddenly so interested in Sherlock's dating life?"

Mary drudged up her best concerned face. "I've just been worried about him is all" Mary said, "After the overdose I just really have been worried about him. He's lonely; you can tell. He had you as his companion for a long time and when he came back he was looking for that again. Without that, I think he's a bit lost. Just thought maybe we could help him get out there and find a bit of companionship." Mary cringed a bit internally; Sherlock would hate that she made him sound so needy.

John seemed to think it over a bit before he gave a sort of embarrassed laugh. "It's sweet that you are so worried about him" he said, "but I really think he's alright. He's doing better than I've seen in a long time, actually. He's not…..lost me or anything. I'm still there; I mean we are all living together for god's sake. And as far as companionship, he treats you as much like a friend as I've ever seen him treat anyone. I think he's really made some progress. If he could just get a case to get him out of the house he'd really be doing well again."

Mary resisted the urge to say more; Sherlock would not appreciate her telling John about his feelings and she knew it would only make things worse at this point. Somehow, someway, she would make John see how important he was to Sherlock and in so doing open them all up to what they could be. She knew she could be heading for a train wreck but right now it just looked like beautiful possibilities.

"I suppose you're right" Mary said with a smile instead, "I suppose I'm just being a worrying mother hen."


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Warning: This chapter contains mature/sexual content_

That day was nothing but agony for Sherlock. It was hard enough when Sherlock had to entertain himself all day long while John and Mary worked, trying to keep the dullness at bay without a case. But being alone all day with his worries and obsessions about Mary was intolerable. He'd thought that boredom was the worst but it didn't hold a candle to worry.

After obsessing about it for hours, Sherlock had come to the conclusion that the best thing that could come of all of this was that Mary would simply say they had to forget it. It was obvious, despite the interest that she had showed in the kiss, that she regretted it. She had to for the way she fled from him last night without so much as a word. This morning, she'd been silent as well and seemed reluctant to even look at him. So, the best he could hope for was that she would either never mention it again or tell him that it couldn't happen again. It wasn't a very appealing offer but it was all he supposed that he could have. No matter what, the easy climate they had between each other was likely gone and Sherlock regretted his lack of self-control; it was so unlike him and now he saw just why he held himself in such high standards of self-control.

But the worst that could happen….there were much more bad possibilities, ranging in levels of severity. What if Mary told John what had happened? Sure, she would implicate herself in doing that but that didn't mean that she wouldn't still tell him. Even though they were equally guilty in this, that is not the way that John would see it. He would be angrier at Sherlock than Mary, no doubt. John was just starting to get past the whole 'being angry at Sherlock for faking his death' thing and if he added 'kissing my wife' to it, he would probably never speak to Sherlock again. Sherlock wasn't sure that was a pain he could bear; it had been hard enough staying away from him for two years. But at least that had been for his safety; if John voluntarily wanted nothing to with him, Sherlock would be devastated. After all, it'd been John that had really gotten Sherlock upset in the first place. For a moment, Sherlock had the terror of wondering what would happen if Mary told John about Sherlock's feelings for him but he quickly dismissed it. Sherlock was reasonably sure that even if angry, Mary wouldn't do that do him.

And what if they decided to leave now? Sherlock wondered as he paced a circle into the rug that afternoon. Worrying just wasn't something that he did a whole lot of and he didn't care for it all. What if he'd overstepped his bounds completely and they left him? Obviously they had only moved in with him to help him past his drug issues but he knew better than to believe that Mary has any intention of leaving any time soon. What if he had just completely ruined that? It was all enough to make Sherlock twitch with need to shoot up again. He wanted to be calm and didn't know how to do it. He'd even made it to the front door with the intention of trying to find drugs, even though it was probably impossible. It was, ironically, thoughts of Mary that made him stop. He could use and probably get it past John's notice. But Mary would notice no matter what and it would hurt her. Sherlock found that the desire to keep from hurting Mary was enough to keep him from his own desires. Another interesting deduction….

Sherlock was hiding in his bedroom when John and Mary finally got home. He could hear their voices through the door but it was a long time before he gained the courage to leave and face them.

Mary was on the couch, curled with her feet up eating some take away and watching telly. Sherlock did a panicked glance around the room and realized that John wasn't anywhere to be found.

"Where's…..uh…..John?" Sherlock asked uncomfortably. He was already sweating in several places and his heart was beating fast. He was getting out of control if even his body was helping to betray him.

"He went out to the pub with Stamford and Greg" Mary said, setting her dinner aside and patting the couch beside her. "Come sit down. We can have a chat."

Sherlock hesitated. He put his hands in his pockets and looked around for an excuse but he couldn't think of one fast enough.

"Sherlock, you're obsessing" Mary said with a grin, looking at him knowingly. "We have to talk about this, you know. Best to do it when John's out, don't you think?"

So, that least meant that John didn't know yet; Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. He slowly walked over to the couch, sitting as far from Mary on the other end as he could. She noticed his space but didn't comment on it. Sherlock didn't trust himself; already he was thinking Mary looked pretty and comfortable and he wanted to kiss her again. He'd never been particularly interested in kissing; he didn't feel much in the way of attraction. He'd felt next to nothing of it before he met John. All of his experience really came from simply curiosity. He found it was easy enough to find a willing partner if you didn't care about the ramifications. But kissing Mary was completely different; he felt things he hadn't felt before.

But more than anything he wanted Mary to put her arm around him and play with his hair like she always did, so warm and comforting. As if she could read his mind, Mary grabbed his arm at that moment and pulled him toward her, laying his head on her shoulder in a caring way. "Don't worry, I'm not going to bite" Mary said with a small laugh. "Well, not again anyway."

Sherlock felt warm as he recalled that sore bruise on his neck. "Yeah, thanks for that. Vampire" he said in mock irritation. He was trying to lighten the mood and he was glad when Mary laughed, telling him she still had humor about it too.

"Oh, you liked it and you know it" Mary said, her hand brushing back his curls from his forehead repeatedly. Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on the touch as if could lose track of the words he was about to say.

"Are you going to move back home?" he asked, holding his breath slightly and glad that Mary couldn't see his face.

"We're not leaving Sherlock. Did you really think we would?" Mary asked, slight disbelief in her voice.

"I thought maybe…if John knew…"Sherlock trailed off. When he was alone it had been easy to believe that she would spill their dirty secret but now he felt ridiculous for believing that. Of course Mary wasn't going to tell John.

"I didn't tell John and I'm not going to." Mary said firmly. Somehow, it felt wrong that John didn't know but Sherlock was thankful she felt that way.

"Well, I have to admit that I did think you might have. Him being your husband and all" Sherlock said.

"What happened last night was as much my fault as your fault" Mary said reasonably. "I'm not going to tell John based on the assumption that we're not going to let that happen again. We can't do anything like that without John."

Sherlock felt the loss of something that he had not even known before. He'd never known he wanted to kiss Mary but now that he knew they couldn't ever again he felt its loss. But just as his concern was overtaking him, his mind caught up to the most important part of that sentence.

"What do you mean, not without John?" Sherlock asked, so startled that he shrugged out of Mary's touch to turn around and stare at her. The sly smile that she had on her face when he turned around made Sherlock tingle a bit in anticipation; she was definitely up to something.

"Well, it's obvious that anything physical happening between us would be very wrong to John" Mary said, "But…..if John were a part of it, then there's no reason we couldn't…do more."

Sherlock felt something inside his brain go haywire; all the delicate connections seemed to fry at the notion that there could be a reality where Sherlock was in an actual relationship with Mary and John.

"But…John would never allow that" Sherlock said. As soon as his excitement began to blossom, it fizzled away just as quickly. John had always been very firm, painfully so sometimes, that they were not a couple. He would not want anything to do with Sherlock and he doubted he would want to share Mary.

"John would probably be resistant" Mary agreed. "But…..if it were presented in the right way, slowly, as if it were his idea, then I believe that he would eventually come around to the idea."

"What exactly are you saying? What would this even be?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"It's what we all secretly want" Mary said, "John and I would still be married and you would be our companion. I like you, Sherlock. I would like to have you both; I think that could be a lot of fun. I think it's safe to say you have some feelings for me as well and we all know you and John need each other desperately. Given the right circumstances I don't see why you couldn't be both our companions."

 _Companion…._ it was such an old fashioned, normal term but the way that Mary said it made him flush and sweat even further. "This…..this is insane" Sherlock said, in amazement and astonishment. Out of all his calculations of what he imagined Mary might say to him about their kiss, he hadn't even considered this option. And he'd thought that he had considered everything…..

"Oh, just try and get me to believe that you don't want to do this" Mary dared him with a sly grin. "I'll never believe that."

"I wasn't suggesting that" Sherlock said, knowing that he couldn't fool Mary the way he could fool other people. "I just…."

Sherlock's eyes met Mary's and he suddenly felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Mary was amazing, utterly amazing; for thinking of this, for considering it. But it would never work and he wasn't sure he could even dream about this happening because it was so far away.

"Mary, there is no way that John would ever consider doing this" Sherlock said, as reasonably as he could when he felt like he was going to be sick. "If there's one thing that John has always been very certain of is that he never has and never will consider us a couple. That was even before I left for two years; he's further away now than he ever was. I don't want to upset things between you and I don't want to ruin what progress I've made with him. John just doesn't care for me like that."

Surprisingly, Mary just smiled back. She put her hand on Sherlock's cheek softly and looked into his eyes. "Sherlock, John loves you. Just believe that" Mary said with feeling. "He's stubborn and he's proud but trust me when I say that he loves you. He would give you anything you asked for, including himself."

Mary ran her finger along Sherlock's cheek soothingly. Sherlock leaned into the touch, surprising a sigh. It was surprising to him how pleasant this touch was; it was just as pleasant as kissing Mary had been but in an entirely different way.

"I'll never forget the way you looked last night, Sherlock" Mary said, a note of sadness in her voice. "I don't want you to feel that way. I want us all to be happy together. Be patient with me and I will do my best to make that happen"

Sherlock smiled, despite the sweetly sore feeling in his heart. "You are really something, Mary. You know that?" he said in slight awed disbelief. When he opened his eyes again, Mary was smiling at him.

"I'll take that as a compliment" Mary said with a grin.

"You should" Sherlock agreed.

Mary paused, seemingly debating on speaking before she said, "You know you're a bloody good kisser."

Sherlock couldn't help but smile as his cheeks colored; it wasn't a compliment he had ever received before. "You're not bad yourself" he said, trying to keep his characteristic smugness out of his voice. "I don't suppose there's any chance we could do it once more? You know…just to keep us while we wait?" It never hurt to ask, after all…

Mary laughed at Sherlock's boldness. She leaned over, giving him a whisper of a kiss on his forehead. It was sweet and gentle and was enough in its own way. "That'll do" Sherlock said with a satisfied sigh.

….

A few days later John was woken from a pleasantly undisturbed sleep by the sound of banging and crashing in the flat. When his sleep addled brain woke up and his opened his saw his old room in 221B it didn't surprise him in the least; this was familiar even if he sometimes forgot upon waking that he was back here.

The sound of thumping persisted but next to John, Mary slept soundly. Looking at the clock saw only fifteen minutes left until the alarm would wake her if Sherlock didn't first and John decided to let her sleep. Running a hand through his hair and sliding out of bed, John made his way downstairs to see what Sherlock was damaging, blowing up or experimenting on to make so much noise.

John was surprised when he came into the sitting room to see Sherlock racing around like a whirlwind. He was fully dressed and looking like his old, impeccable self; he found his coat and threw it on, completing what the world knew as 'his look'. Well, expect for the deerstalker.

"Planning on tearing the flat down in your process to get dressed?" John teased as he took in Sherlock's dramatic movements. He was halfway to the stairs when he turned around at the sound of John's voice.

Sherlock looked like a new man. John had been distracted and off key himself after Mary had made the decision to move them back to 221B and it was obvious in the change that John didn't notice in Sherlock. Now seeing Sherlock, dressed in his fine, clean, fancy clothes, freshly showered and his hair styled, with a wild look of excitement in his eye and a smile on his face, it was easy to see that he had not been himself. If John had really been paying attention, he would have really seen that before now Sherlock was not alright. He'd known that Sherlock was ill; the idea of his overdose still scared him. But now, instead of looking like a tired, sick, defeated person like he had for the past couple of weeks, he looked like….well, he just looked like Sherlock.

"I was in a hurry" Sherlock said in a rushed tone, his words flowing together like they could at his most excited. "Lestrade finally called!"

"He did? That's great" John said enthusiastically. "I know you've probably been bored to death without a case or anything to do."

"I knew it was only a matter of time they could go without me" Sherlock said with proud smugness. "But I am relieved none the less. A serial killer by the looks of it! Takes an item off every person he kills and places it on his next victim. I whole heartily understand the psychology behind murder trophies but this will be his downfall! Oh, yes…London will not be dull today!"

It was rare to see Sherlock is such high spirits; only really good cases could truly bring it on. John never got tired of seeing it. "I'm sure that will prove to be most interesting" John said.

"Yes, I am sure" Sherlock said wildly before he dashing out the door with a hurried, "Tell Mary not to wait around!"

Sherlock was out the door before John could say anything else and John was left in the quiet sitting room by himself. John sank back into his armchair, looking over at Sherlock's empty one. John was really glad that Sherlock had gotten a case to work on; he was going a bit crazy without one. But something nagged John in the back of his mind.

A few minutes later, John was still staring drowsily off into space trying to figure out why he felt so strange when Mary came down stairs, in her pyjamas, her hair tousled. She smiled at him as she sunk down, taking a seat in his lap.

"You woke up before the alarm. That must be some sort of record" Mary teased him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck.

"Sherlock sounded like he was blowing up the place" John said, a little more bitterly than he meant to. "I'm surprised you didn't wake up too."

"Where is Sherlock?" Mary asked, looking around the flat.

"He's got a case" John said.

"That's good. He's really felt a bit hopeless without a case I think" Mary said.

It sounded so knowing; Mary did seem to know Sherlock so well. Well, at least on the things that seemed to matter. John almost thought that Sherlock talked about his feelings with Mary, something he didn't think Sherlock capable of. Maybe it was because he considered Mary smart where as he sometimes acted as if John was about as intelligent as a two year old. With a touch of bitterness John recalled Sherlock's words, 'Tell Mary not to wait around'. Why should she anyway?

"Yeah, I guess. He'll be out of our hair at any rate for a few days" John said. He was surprised when Mary put her hands on his cheeks and turned his face toward her. She was grinning ear to ear.

"John Watson, you feel left out, don't you?" she asked, smiling too much for John's liking.

"What? No, of course I don't" John said quickly.

"Yes you do!" Mary said triumphantly. "Sherlock left and he didn't ask you to come with him and you're upset, aren't you?"

"No" John said flatly. It was weak at best; he did feel a bit put off. Cases with Sherlock were the highest in adventure and hated the thought that he was missing out.

"John….." Mary prodded, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine" John relented, knowing that Mary had a knack for really pulling out information when she wanted to. "But you don't have to sound so happy about it"

Mary pulled herself close to John, giving him a crushing hug. "Oh, I'm not happy you're upset" she said, "I just like seeing you two admit you care."

"I don't care about him. He's a git" John said resentfully even though they both knew he was lying.

"Sherlock's just excited" Mary said reasonably. "He's been so long without a case I'm sure he was too excited to get out there. After this he'll remember they are no fun without you and take you along on the next one."

"Yeah, I bet he will when he sees that there is no one there to insult" John said grudgingly.

Mary captured his lips in a long kiss, melting away some of his anger before she pulled back and looked meaningful into his eyes. "You know, the good thing about having the flat to ourselves is that we can take an extra-long shower" she gave him a wink. "If you want to, that is"

John smiled, already feeling a rush. "Oh, I definitely want to."

….

Over the next week, John saw little of Sherlock. Sherlock was in the element that John so often saw of being completely enthralled and consumed with his problem. Sherlock was a man of extremes; when he wasn't working he could sit around for days and refuse to lay a finger on anything important but when he had a case, he could work for days, running on little to no food and sleep. He and Mary saw him only in snippets, where he would occasionally burst into the flat, muttering about axes or pocketknives, only to change his clothes or nap for no more than an hour before leaving again. Mary seemed to glow whenever he would grace them with his presence; she'd smile and encourage him about whatever nonsense remark he happened to make before he was gone. John mostly pretended that he didn't hear or see Sherlock when he was there.

John wasn't bitter about not being included; well, not very. No matter what he said to Mary, John missed the thrill of the chase and resented that he was stuck in his normal job while Sherlock was off doing God knows what else. John enjoyed being a doctor but being a general practitioner, fixing minor illness and injuries wasn't what he had always hoped for in a career of medicine. Being an army doctor had been much more his speed but obviously those days were over; he'd thrived on the pure adrenaline and stress that fixing up wound in the midst of battle had given him. Facing dangerous criminals with Sherlock was a close to second to that and as the hours had droned on at work, John found himself all too often thinking about what Sherlock might be doing at that moment. He had, many times, ignored Mary's advice to simply tell Sherlock that he wanted to help him with the case. If Sherlock didn't want him around, then he didn't want to be around him either.

Incidentally, not having Sherlock around meant that John and Mary had a lot more alone time. They were still newlyweds, after all, though they'd had little time alone together aside from the honeymoon. Mary's morning sickness seemed to be subsiding gradually and they were able to go out and do more things. Having evenings free without Mary insisting on babysitting Sherlock, John took advantage of it and they went out several times that week, having dinner, going to cinema and simply cuddling on the couch watching telly.

Though Mary's hormone related sickness was going away, John was glad to see that her high levels of hormones were still at work on other areas. As they sat in the back of a cab on the way home to 221B one night after having gone to see a film, Mary had proceeded to whisper in his ear the entire way home what she planned on doing to him when they got home. Despite the fact that Mary's hand was on his crouch and she didn't even move it, John was already hard by the time that they got home, an impressive feat on Mary's part.

They'd barely had the door closed when John had begun to rip of Mary's clothes and his own in record speed. With determined strength, he lifted Mary up and carried her to her their bedroom.

He'd known in the cab that it wasn't going to take long tonight and he wasn't wrong. Mary, who'd always been pretty good at dirty talk, was on special form tonight. John had never had the pleasure of ever having been talked to like Mary was talking to him and he was thoroughly impressed.

John could feel his release edging up when Mary said, "And what about Sherlock, John?"

Mary was on top of him, looking as beautiful as ever, and though the words gave John pause, Mary continued to move against him. "What?" John asked, trying to sound incredulous but under the circumstances it just sounded breathless.

"I said what about Sherlock" Mary said, getting a wicked glean in her eye that only aroused John more despite what he knew she was about to suggest. "You ever think about Sherlock? I bet you do, don't you? I bet sometimes when you wrap your hand around yourself, you imagine its Sherlock's hand. Those long, skilled fingers…..I bet they could work you just right. Just thinking about it makes you come, doesn't it?"

"Christ, Mary…don't talk about Sherlock right now" John said. Mary was still moving despite his putting his hands on her hips to try and stop her. It was a weak attempt at best but he didn't want start thinking about Sherlock now when he was so close to his release. He couldn't be thinking about him if he did finally come.

"Why not? I'm right, aren't I?" Mary asked wickedly. "You don't want to talk about Sherlock because you know you'll come, don't you? Because you have before…..you close your eyes and imagine he's between your legs, that you're run your fingers through those gorgeous curls while he sucks you off. Admit it…admit it, John"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" John asked, gasping out the words between Mary's hard thrusts. Somehow, he'd began to move again but he hoped that Mary didn't notice. He didn't know where this was coming from.

"There isn't anything wrong with me. I'm just imaging my two favorite men together. Don't even act like you're not enjoying it because I can tell" Mary breathed.

 _My two favorite men…._ John knew how Mary meant it and that she didn't mean what it sounded like. So why did it seem like such a loaded statement? Maybe because he'd already thought he'd seen something there? And why, with all of this, could John barely keep from giving into his release? He should be repulsed but like Mary said, he was clearly enjoying it.

Mary stopped abruptly, making John ache. When he tried to keep thrusting, Mary grabbed his face, bringing his attention to her face and not his aching cock. "Would you let me watch? If Sherlock really sucked you off you'd let me watch? Because that would be one of the hottest things that I could imagine."

"T-that….wouldn't…..happen" John said. He tried to push against Mary but she was firmly still. He was torn between wanting to keep from coming simply to keep from admitting any of this was getting to him but his throbbing convinced him that he was committed to seeing this through.

"Please, Mary…" John said, his voice desperate at his tried to get her to move. He could see it was an uphill battle when he saw the pleased smile on her face at his desperation.

"Admit it" Mary said, leaning forward to nip at his lips between words. "Tell me you think about Sherlock sometimes"

John didn't want to admit it but his need to come was pushing out logical thought. The truth was that technically he had thought about Sherlock about that way but he felt it ought not to count. He'd only given himself over to that line of thought after Sherlock's disappearance. John had been insanely lonely and it was only when he was thoroughly drunk. It didn't count, not in the ways that mattered; once he'd met Mary he'd put a stop to that destructive line of thought. He didn't even want to admit it but Mary knew she had him.

"Fine…yes. Yes" John said, his voice sounding desperate. "I do…..sometimes I do."

"Ah, there you go" Mary said, her voice sounding entirely too pleased. She immediately began to thrust against him again and John could tell that he'd come in no time now.

Mary's tongue traced his lip as she breathed against his ear. "Picture it's him now. Picture its him you're fucking, that that brilliant idiot is withering underneath you. He'd love it you know; I can see the way he looks at you. Everyone thinks it's just you that worships him but he adores you."

"Mary…don't" John cautioned slightly but they both knew it was a pointless battle. He could feel the pressure gathering below his belly and he didn't want Sherlock to be in his head when he gave in. Now, with Mary talking like that, he couldn't possibly get him out of his head.

"Oh, but John he does" Mary continued. "He looks at you like you're the brilliant one, like you're something he wants to devour. I bet he would try too; he'd to be on top. He'd criticize you with that voice of his, 'Not that way John, you're doing it wrong'" Mary said in an uncanny Sherlock impersonation, "'Fuck me harder, John, how do you expect me to come like that?'"

John didn't know what came over him. With one swift movement, John had pushed Mary back against the bed so he was on top, one hand against her shoulder holding her down, the other clamping down that filthy mouth of hers until he gave a few of the hardest, deepest thrusts he could manage and came harder than he could recall doing in years. Mary gasped underneath his hand, unable to call out, but he could feel her contracting against him as she came shortly after him.

John was shaking as he fell back against the bed next to Mary. They were both silent for what felt like an eternity but John didn't know what to say. John could see Mary smiling out of the corner of his eye but she wasn't saying anything. Already he could see small fingerprint sized bruises on her shoulder and John winced; had he really been holding her that hard? Mary always wanted him to be more aggressive, had asked for it on several occasions, but John couldn't bear to leave marks on her. His head had felt completely fogged; he felt like he'd been out of control. It was like being drunk but he hadn't drunk anything. Now that Mary's dirty talk high was tapering off, John felt dirty and ashamed. He hoped Mary didn't read too much into what had just happened. He had to admit the evidence was damning; she'd just tried to sound like Sherlock and he'd come in less than a minute. Someone might get the idea that the two were connected but really it had been building up; after all, she'd been talking to him with that filthy mouth since they were in the cab.

"Are you alright?" John asked. He kept his eyes on the ceiling because he couldn't look at her right now. He was afraid he might had been so rough with her that he'd hurt her.

"Are you kidding? I think that was one of the longest orgasms I've ever had" Mary said with a satisfied laugh. "I should be Sherlock more often"

John winced; so she was going to read to more into this. Why did she have to do that? Why did she have to bring Sherlock into the dirty talk? Everyone always assumed they were together and John had thought that would go away once he actually had a wife. Now, was his wife going to be part of it too? John wanted to ask her why she'd done it but really John was beginning to think that the best course of action might be to act like this had never happened and hope it went away.

"You know….all of that didn't mean anything. It was just dirty talk. It doesn't mean anything" John said firmly but evenly so he didn't act like he cared too much.

"Of course it doesn't" Mary said, curling up next to him. Even though she said it, she was grinning and John wasn't convinced she meant what she said.


	11. Chapter 11

John and Mary had a rare day off together the next day and they spent it lazily around the house. It was pouring the rain and John was content to help Mary tidy the flat and spend the rest of the day watching movies on television. Mary hadn't brought up what had happened the previous night and John contented himself with the fact that it hadn't been as big a deal as he'd made it out to be; it would be forgotten. John could see no signs that Sherlock had spent the night at home and John was glad for that; he could only imagine what he might think if they had been overheard.

Sherlock had been so consumed in his case that John was almost getting used to not having him around when he suddenly burst into the flat that evening. He was soaked from the rain, his heavy coat weighing him down as water dripped in puddles around him. His curls were falling wet around his face, covering his eyes until he pushed them back like a curtain. His face was alight with excitement and John knew without a shadow of a doubt that Sherlock had solved the case. That was his post-case euphoria face if John ever saw it.

"Hey, stranger. Nice of your to drop in" Mary said with a smile as Sherlock shed his heavy coat, throwing it in a pile by the couch where she and John were sitting back lazily.

"I'm dropping in for good. At least for now" Sherlock said brightly. His eyes actually twinkled with excitement; John never got tired of seeing that look on Sherlock's face. He looked so happy and excited that John forgot to be angry at him for not including him in any of this.

"Solved the case then?" John asked even though he knew he had.

"Of course" Sherlock said dramatically, trying to sound nonchalant but he was obviously very pleased. "I told you, trophies are always a killer's downfall and this was no exception. Now, because he just had to be 'clever' he's in prison. London can rest assured that a man who killed ten people is behind bars."

"Good job, Sherlock" Mary said, standing up from the couch and giving Sherlock a hair ruffle. Rather than seeming put off by it, he seemed to lap up the praise. "You've done very well, Sherlock. I think this calls for a celebration. I think we ought to all go out."

"Oh, we don't have to do that" Sherlock said. He waved a hand as if he didn't care but John could tell that he did want to go. Was Sherlock actually trying to be modest? That would be a first, John thought.

"Of course we do" Mary said excitedly. "Sherlock, you go get a shower and some new clothes and John and I will make ourselves presentable; get out of these sweats. We're going somewhere nice"

"We always just get take away after a case; you'll spoil him." John teased as Mary disappeared toward their bedroom. John began to follow her but Sherlock called out behind him.

"John?"

John turned around and though Sherlock looked just as bright as before, he seemed to hesitate a bit too. "What?" John asked, curious now.

"Next time I get a case….do you think you'd be able to help me?" Sherlock asked. His hair in his face and the way he fidgeted made him look younger and even vulnerable to John.

"Of course I could" John said, feeling satisfaction come over him at Sherlock's simply asking. He didn't point out that he would have gladly come with him this time if he had asked.

"I can work alone, you know" Sherlock said, "But I….I enjoy having you with me. I…."

John couldn't believe it; not only was Sherlock actually admitting that he missed John in a way, he was stuttering through it betraying his emotions. It was so unlike him. John felt a smile coming to his lips at it and it seemed to make Sherlock frustrated.

"It's not a big deal" he said, flustered, "I just need an assistant"

John tried to suppress his smile and didn't call Sherlock on it; this time it was enough for John to know that he had been missed without calling Sherlock on it.

….

Mary knew that Sherlock would enjoy the puff of pride he'd get for the fact that Mary thought his accomplishment so great that it warranted going out to dinner but she hadn't expected how thoroughly he and John would enjoy each other's company. At first, Mary could sense that they were somewhat guarded with each other; old habits were hard to break. But over dinner and several glasses of wine between the two, they began to loosen up. Sherlock shared all of the grim and interesting details of his solving the case which eventually turned into Sherlock and John sharing past tales with Mary, getting more and more ridiculous as the night drug on.

It had stopped raining by the time they had finished their long dinner and they decided on walking home since they weren't that far from 221B. The night was cold but Mary couldn't resist watching Sherlock and John trying to walk down the street. They'd not been paying attention to how much they'd been drinking through dinner and Mary was the last person who would make them slow down. She didn't bother to hide her grin as Sherlock and John seemed entirely too interested in the puddles on the ground.

John tried to step over a puddle and overshot it by several inches, causing him to fall onto the ground.

"My god, John! Learn to walk!" Sherlock berated John dramatically as if he thought he was being ridiculous. When Sherlock tried to help John up he succeeded in falling down himself. They kept trying to get up by using each other as support but all they succeeded in doing was falling down and gigging together.

"You two sound like a pair of teenage girls" Mary laughed as she helped Sherlock and John up. She smiled as they threw an arm around each other, leaning so heavily on each other Mary didn't know how they stayed upright.

"Please tell me you two didn't sound so dorky when you had your bachelor party" Mary teased. "It would be such a shame to embarrass yourselves so thoroughly around the girls"

John laughed in a way that he only did when drunk. "Girls? What girls? Your remember it was this guy planning it?" he said, punching Sherlock in the stomach.

"Hey…..hey!" Sherlock said gesturing widely and dramatically, "That was a good party! I didn't see you complaining then"

"There were no girls…..it was just you and me drinking beer out of beakers" John said.

Mary couldn't help but laugh. "Really, Sherlock?" she asked.

"It was thoughtful!" Sherlock defended. "We had a drink on every street we had a case. You said, and I quote, 'Sherlock, you're so thoughtful'"

"I did not!" John argued like a child.

"Yes you did!" Sherlock said, "You said it when we were lying on the stairs"

"You were lying on the stairs?" Mary asked curiously. "What was that about?"

"I was drunk!" John said, obviously not aware that he was just as drunk now. "I would have said anything you wanted to hear"

"Then I really should have asked you more, Mr. Am I a Pretty Lady?" Sherlock said laughing. John gave him a firm push and he fell over onto the ground but he was still laughing.

"John…what was that about?" Mary asked, looking at him incredulously as she helped Sherlock up again.

"He's upset because he asked me if he was a pretty lady and I didn't answer him" Sherlock retorted.

"I don't care if you think I'm pretty" John said.

"What kind of night was this bachelor party?" Mary asked, amused at the strange turn of the conversation.

"It was obviously nothing" John said, waving his hands, smacking into Sherlock. "We just drank and then fell on the stairs. We played Rizla until we got that client….oh….whatever her name was. And Sherlock didn't say I was pretty…not that I care"

"Oh come off it" Sherlock said, "you're not pretty John; you're not a lady. You're a man and you're rugged"

Mary opened the door to 221B and stumbled in after Sherlock and John. She wasn't surprised when they barely managed two steps and fell onto the stairs. Sherlock fell first, then John flopped on top of him.

"I'm not rugged" John said in a pouty voice, his face buried in Sherlock's coat.

"Fine then…strong, muscular, brawny…those better? Damn it, John…..it's a good thing. You're a bloody solider, what did you expect?" Sherlock said.

John said something undecipherable from Sherlock's coat before Sherlock pushed him. "Get a grip, John. You're drooling on me" he said as he pushed John aside.

"Should I just leave you two here?" Mary asked in an amused voice. "I getting ready to walk right over you and lock the door."

"I'm up…" Sherlock whined, hoping up unsteadily.

"I'm just so tired" John complained.

"If you don't get up John, I might just have to take Sherlock upstairs and tell him what you said about him yesterday. I'm sure he'd really love to hear it" Mary said wickedly. It was all of three seconds before John had gotten up and pushed past Mary and Sherlock.

"You're mean, Mary" John said, his cheeks coloring.

"Aw…what is it, John?" Sherlock said, flapping his hands around in a preening motion. "Did you tell Mary I was a pretty lady?"

"I hate you" John said, flopping on the couch and curling up in a ball.

"No you don't and I don't either, you idiot" Sherlock said, falling on the other side of the couch.

"Not an idiot" John muttered. Ten seconds later he began to snore.

"Everyone's an idiot compared to me….well, Mary's pretty smart…" Sherlock muttered back before drifting off himself.

"Well, good for you two" Mary said, smiling, "Try not to puke on each other while I'm in the shower"

Mary was grateful for the warm, soothing water of the shower. Despite the fact that it had stopped raining, it had been bitterly cold and it had settled on her hard. As the warm water washed over her, she got lost in her thoughts.

She had been pushing it last night, she knew. John had asked her to stop talking about Sherlock several times but she had kept pushing because she had seen immediately how into it he was. He tried to brush it off later as if it wasn't anything but Mary knew better. Yes, dirty talk was just talk but it was only sexy if you secretly liked the idea of what the other person was saying. Mary had suspected John had feelings that were much deeper than friendship for Sherlock long before she knew Sherlock was still alive. It was simply undeniable that they had a connection. Last night had been more proof of that; a few sentences turned in Sherlock's voice and John had fucked her harder than he ever had before. It was so intriguing that Mary was tempted to tell Sherlock but she would refrain; like she'd told Sherlock they had to come at this slowly or it wouldn't work and she didn't want to get Sherlock's hopes up without hard evidence it was going to work.

Mary got out of the shower and put her pyjamas on before going back to the sitting room to see how John and Sherlock had fared, dearly hoping they'd been able to keep their alcohol down. The sight she saw was enough to make her grin from ear to ear.

In less than twenty minutes John and Sherlock had made their way from their opposite sides of the couch and toward each other. John's head lay against Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock's head tipped to settle against John's.

"So much for staying angry at each other" Mary said in a pleased voice. They looked so comfortable and so at ease she nearly left them there; the only thing that made her try to move them was a brilliant idea that was blossoming into her mind, one that they couldn't possibly blame her for later.

"Come on Sherlock. Let me help you to bed" Mary said, giving Sherlock's shoulder a shake.

Sherlock shifted in his sleep, putting an arm over John almost protectively. His face fell on top of John's head; Mary was not mistaken in believing that he actually sniffed John's hair. Where was her camera when she really needed it? "No…stay here" Sherlock mumbled.

"No, let's go to bed" Mary encouraged him, prodding some more.

"No…John" Sherlock said, nuzzling his head against John's so forcefully he swatted at him in his sleep.

"What if I said you could go to bed and I brought John too?" Mary asked, her voice soothingly sweet.

Sherlock smiled, his eyes still half closed. "Okay" he said. He allowed Mary to help him up and lead him toward his room. As soon as Sherlock saw the bed he fell onto it heavily like a sack of potatoes. Mary helped him out of his coat and shoes before putting the covers over him.

"That good, Sherlock?" Mary asked pleasantly.

"John…" Sherlock said irritably, waving a hand.

"Wow, so demanding" Mary teased, going to the sitting room to get John. John had sprawled out along the whole couch without Sherlock there, looking delightfully sleepy.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's go to bed" Mary said, pulling on John's arm. John was barely half awake as Mary helped him toward Sherlock's room. She gave him a gentle push toward the bed and he fell down beside Sherlock without really waking up. Mary took off his coat and shoes and settled the covers over him next to Sherlock. She watched with a contented grin as John turned toward Sherlock and settled his face against Sherlock's chest before he fell deeper into sleep again.

Satisfied, Mary climbed under the covers next to John, feeling warm and happy. She found it ironic that Sherlock had such a big bed since he rarely slept and never did anything else in it but now she was thankful for it. As Mary drifted off to sleep, cuddled up to John who was cuddled up to Sherlock, she almost believe that this could work. Maybe for once, they could all get what they wanted. Maybe for once, something work out the way it was supposed to.

…..

John was in Sherlock's dream that night. Though it wasn't uncommon to have John pop up in subconscious despite his many efforts over the years to keep him out, this was strange because he came into Sherlock's head not as he was now but as he had been two years ago. It had nothing to do with his physical appearance; aside from some grey hair that Sherlock felt responsible for that was all the same. It was his eyes; in Sherlock's dream that night John had the eyes he'd had before he had jumped off that roof. Completely the same in shape and color but completely different in the way they looked at Sherlock. Before he had jumped, John had regarded him with trust and a surety that Sherlock had all of the answers; he believed that Sherlock would always be there. Now, there was a doubt and betrayal there at times that broke Sherlock's heart. He was sure that John didn't know he was doing it but that didn't stop it from hurting any less.

To compound Sherlock's dream, Mary was there too. When John has the trusting eyes that never doubted him, Mary hadn't been there for real but in his dream they were both there. John, who was stronger than he believed, who kept Sherlock together despite his belief that it was the other way around. And Mary, who was kind and pretty, who looked at Sherlock in a different way than anyone else on earth did; the person who perhaps saw Sherlock the most of what he really was.

As Sherlock began to rise to consciousness he thought he must have been wasted. He had no recollection of having used and he wouldn't have done it now of all times; John and Mary would kill him if he did. But the lucidness to which he sensed John there with him spoke of being on something; surely not his own mind. Before he opened his eyes he could feel breath hot against his face, could smell John's musk and fabric softener riddled jumper. When he reached out a hand he could even feel skin again his own. As he pressed harder against the warm skin, he even felt a hand smack against his own.

"Mary…..stop" the sound of John's throaty, sleep voice was real enough that it jarred Sherlock to his senses.

When Sherlock opened his eyes he saw that he wasn't dreaming up John in a drug induced state; though he did have all the signs of alcohol induced dehydration. He'd been wrong? Dead wrong, his mind told him as it fought to catch up, replaying memories of the night. John and Mary had gone out to dinner with him; lots of drinking, too much drinking, something about falling down on the stairs with John…..did it always come to that with them when they drank? Even so, it was still fuzzy on how it came to be lying in his bed an inch from John.

Still asleep, John had mistook Sherlock's touching his face as Mary's; after irritably muttering at her he had started to gently snore again, fast asleep. Sherlock didn't dare to move; he stayed frozen for fear that if he moved this would suddenly all go away.

As John rolled onto his back, Sherlock could see lying on the other side of him Mary fast asleep. Her face was relaxed and at ease, her eyes moving slightly under her eyelids signaling dreaming and Sherlock found himself pondering for far too long what she might be dreaming about. Did Mary dream about him like he dreamed about her? His gut reaction was to say no; there was a time that he could have said that with reasonable certainty it was a fact and not a guess. But after he and Mary had kissed in the kitchen he began to wonder and he certainly thought she might after her surprising suggestion that they all have a relationship together. Sherlock shook his head, unable to place his thoughts with certainty; this was what it had come to. Allowing his feelings for John and Mary to grow and take up more of his thoughts was making his predictable thoughts unpredictable.

As Sherlock watched Mary quietly in the middle of her dreams, it slowly began to come back to him. His head pounded and his thoughts were slow but began to remember Mary encouraging him to go to bed; he'd only complied when she had said that John would come too. He'd sadly already been asleep by the time she'd convinced John to come in here though he'd be interested to see how that had come about.

As many times as Sherlock had had distracting dreams about John being this close to him, he was still surprised by how he felt now that it was happening. His heart was racing, feeling endorphins rushing through his blood, his temperature rising and making him sweat; typical signs of attraction. It wasn't unexpected but it still took Sherlock by surprise. John was perfect and yet he didn't see it at all. Like Mary, John's face was relaxed but there was the occasional frown on his face. Sherlock could feel John's body heat radiating from him, making Sherlock overly warm but even so Sherlock had no desire to move at all.

Feeling a twinge of unexpected nervousness, Sherlock reached a hand up and ran his fingers along John's hair. It was softer than Sherlock knew it used to be; he'd obviously been using Mary's shampoo, most likely when they were both in the shower together. Pushing past that troubling thought, Sherlock focused on the almost childish half smile on John's face as he continued to lightly run his finger over his hair. Feeling a burst of confidence that John wasn't going to wake up, Sherlock let his fingers trace down John's face and rest on his cheeks. Something told Sherlock that John wasn't going to be happy when he woke up and saw what Mary had done; John had always been so sensitive about people implying in the least that they were a couple. But for now, that seemed far away and Sherlock was just going to enjoy the sight of John's peaceful, oblivious face so close next to his own.

Sherlock let his face nestle against John's chest to where he could hear his heart. It beat strong and sure, assuring Sherlock of John's vibrant life. Already Sherlock could feel himself drifting off back to sleep, feeling unbelievably peaceful, just assured by that steady beating.


	12. Chapter 12

John's head was aching before he even opened his eyes and he instantly regretted having those last few drinks last night. He'd even forgotten how many he'd had; Sherlock had been so prattling on and John had forgotten to pay attention. Staring down the barrel of having to do a double shift today, he wished Sherlock hadn't been so charming. Charming….that was the word that Mary had used about Sherlock's behavior, surely not one he'd come up with. They'd gotten lost in all of the memories of past cases, ones before Sherlock left and things had gotten so strange. Back when things had been…..different.

John gingerly opened his eyes, preparing for the assault of light on his eyes but was met with such a strange sight he had to do a double take as to whether or not he was still asleep or not.

Sherlock was lying next to him, in Sherlock's bed no less. Next to him wasn't even the correct word; he was lying against him, his face hidden in John's chest. John's mind struggled to come up with the events of last night; after they had left the restaurant it had become hard to recall anything else. With a nervous jolt, John peaked under the covers and felt a wave of relief to see that they were both still wearing the clothes that they had been the previous night so there obviously wasn't as much to remember as John worried there might have been. A glance at the warm body behind him and he found Mary sleeping on his other side assured him, at least for now, that the night had been innocent enough. Though he was still perplexed as to how he, Sherlock and Mary had ended up sleeping in Sherlock's bed; Mary hadn't even had anything to drink so shouldn't she have been the voice of reason?

Delicately, John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and turned him away from his chest as much as he could without waking him; that wasn't a conversation he wanted to have right now. Lying on his back, Sherlock stirred in his sleep but he didn't wake up. John found himself staring at Sherlock's face longer than was necessary. Sherlock so rarely slept and when he did it was usually because he'd passed out after a case. In those cases John would find him slumped over his armchair or on a table, completely passed out from sheer exhaustion. He always looked drawn and tired, though content in those times; only once he'd done his job properly could he attend to his own needs. Even though this sleep was post-case sleep, John could see the difference immediately. For one thing he was actually in his bed; was that Mary's idea? John's initial answer was yes but he didn't want to think on it too hard because then he'd have to think about why he and Mary had also made their way in here. Sherlock was sleeping in his bed like a normal person, his face not weak or tired looking from his work; he looked peaceful. His face was completely relaxed and at ease; if he had Sherlock's abilities he was sure that he could read more into it but he didn't and that was all he had for right now. But…that was enough.

John didn't know how long he laid there staring at Sherlock but he was glad that no one was awake to count the time; eventually he knew he had to pull himself out of bed and get ready for the day though it was honestly the last thing that he wanted to do. Looking from Mary to Sherlock, seeing himself sandwiched in between the two of them, John debated how to best get out. He wasn't climbing out over Sherlock, that was for sure, and he didn't want to wake up Mary. Eventually he just decided to climb out the end of the bed though the idea of leaving Mary and Sherlock together in bed felt…odd. When he looked back at them from the doorway before going to the bathroom felt even odder. It felt odd because it didn't seem as strange to him as he thought it should have. It just felt like there in that one bed was all that mattered to him in the world.

John reluctantly peeled off his day old clothes and got into the shower. As his mind slowly came awake with the help of the warm water, John began to get lost in his musings. How long was this going to last? When Mary had insisted that they move in with Sherlock for a time John had thought it would be just that; a short visit. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't felt guilty after Sherlock's overdose and Mary's saying that it had been because they had left him. Mary was always right about things; she had that uncanny ability Sherlock had to know everything about everyone it seemed. In fact she was the only person who seemed to be able to understand him at all. So, if Mary said that Sherlock had overdosed because he was upset about them leaving them he believed her even though it didn't make any sense to him. They had only gotten married and went on their honeymoon; they hadn't really left. With a touch of bitterness John thought that Sherlock had left him for two years and he'd seemed fine with that so why was he so upset? Was it because he didn't get his way and have things exactly the way they had been before he left? Did he expect John to sit around and wait for him? John had sat around and waited for him, even pinned for him in the broadest of terms. It had nearly killed him in those months after Sherlock supposed death. John had blamed himself for not seeing that Sherlock was so troubled that he would kill himself and he wanted nothing more than to turn back time and fix it. There had even been times in the darkest days where he and considered following Sherlock into death. Mary had come into his life at the best time to pull him out of his darkness and show him that life without Sherlock was still worth living.

When John really let himself think about it, he was angry with Sherlock. They hadn't played right into his hands and he said they 'left him' enough that he felt the need to overdose? John felt like it was just a cry for attention, one they had played right into. John knew that Sherlock had several unnamed psychological quirks that made him less unable than the average person to deal with change but John felt he'd been much more wronged than Sherlock had. He'd been abandoned for two years and the worst part of it was that when Sherlock had come home, he hadn't seen anything wrong with what he'd done.

So when they had come here to stay with Sherlock, he had planned on just getting Sherlock to a place where he felt secure enough about his and Mary's marriage that they could distance themselves enough to move back home without Sherlock using. But now…now he didn't know what was happening. More and more of their stuff kept appearing at 221B and John knew Mary was subtly moving more and more into the place. She was creating ties with Sherlock rather than severing them. John was glad that Sherlock could have someone that he actually called a friend; he and Mary genuinely seemed like friends. But…was there something else there? John almost felt at times like they were up to something. They were so brilliant that combined there was no telling the damage they could do. It wasn't like he thought they were messing around or anything; John knew Sherlock better than to believe that. But…they had a bond that John hadn't quite figured out yet. What he did know was that they weren't any closer to moving out now than they had been the first day they moved in.

By the time that John got out of the shower and retrieved clothes from his bedroom, he came down to the kitchen to find Mary already there making coffee. His stomach rolled from the alcohol last night and a few pieces of toast was all he could manage as he got some coffee and sat across the table from Mary.

"Morning. How's the hangover?" Mary asked with a smile as John bitterly ate his toast.

"What hangover?" John asked, smiling more than he felt as he forced himself to eat and drink stronger- than -normal coffee.

"I had to peel you and Sherlock off the floor several times last night; I know you've got a hangover" Mary said, sipping her coffee.

"Okay, maybe a bit" John admitted. He looked at Mary carefully over the edge of his toast. "So…..you going to help me remember why you and I went to sleep in Sherlock's bed last night?"

Mary's eyes looked mischievous for a split second before she laughed care freely; John only noticed it because he was looking for it this time.

"You were both on the couch and rather than leaving you there, I helped you to bed." Mary explained. "I didn't really feel like trying to haul you up the stairs so I threw you in with Sherlock. You two did look so cute; I just left you there. Of course I wasn't going to sleep alone upstairs."

"Really, Mary? Don't we have any boundaries anymore?" John asked, feeling that Mary wasn't exactly being truthful and resenting it. "We already have a job taking care of Sherlock 24/7; are we going to start sleeping with him too?"

John had blurted it out and as soon as he did he regretted it for the way it sounded and the sly smile that it put on Mary's face. "Why? Do you want to?" she teased.

John felt a flush come to his cheek; if she bloody started talking about what happened the other night… "Mary, don't" John said in a hard voice.

"Oh, I'm just teasing" Mary said, taking her coffee cup to the sink and rinsing it out. She walked over to John, giving him a hug from behind, resting her face on his shoulder near his neck. "Don't be so uptight. I was just trying to make you comfortable. I think you're reading too much into it."

Mary started to kiss his neck and John knew it was a losing battle. How could he be mad when she was doing that? And maybe he was being a little paranoid; he just didn't expect to wake up to Sherlock lying on him; he expected even less to not be horrified by it. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm being too dramatic" John agreed.

Mary hugged him tighter. "You're not dramatic. You're passionate and I love it"

….

Mary had just said goodbye to John and finished clearing up in the kitchen when Sherlock made his way blearily down the hall looking still half asleep. She noted that his dress clothes were gone and he was back in his pyjamas though he'd just woke up; she hoped that he wasn't already feeling a case-less slump. Though John hadn't really recalled sleeping in the bed with Sherlock, Mary knew that Sherlock would and would no doubt be happy about it.

"Morning, Sherlock" Mary said brightly from the couch as Sherlock stumbled around the kitchen before filling up a cup with the last of the coffee and flopping on the couch next to Mary.

"I'm right here…..no need to shout" Sherlock said grumpily, squinting his eyes.

"You're just hungover; you'll be fine in a few hours" Mary said, making no move to lower her voice. She grabbed the spare game controller off the table and tossed it at Sherlock. It landed in his lap and he scowled at Mary.

"Um…ow!" Sherlock said dramatically, putting his cup down and taking the controller. "What's your deal?"

"My deal is this is the first day we've had just the two of us in a while and I've missed kicking your ass" Mary said, taking the other controller.

"Ah, well, maybe I won't play" Sherlock said petulantly.

"Yes you will" Mary said confidently.

"I've gotten good, just so you know" Sherlock with mock pride.

"Better not get to good; John will expect you to play with him" Mary said.

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "I've not accepted his invitations for years; I'm not going to start now" he said.

"So I'm special?" Mary said proudly. When Sherlock didn't answer, Mary couldn't help but smile wider.

After they had sat in silence for two games, only broken by a few curses from Sherlock as he lost, Mary spoke. "So….how was last night?"

Mary kept her eyes on the telly but out of the corner of her eye she could see Sherlock smile slightly before he recovered. "I'm not sure what you're implying" Sherlock said resolutely.

"Come on, Sherlock" Mary prodded. "We don't have any secrets anymore. You can admit you like John now; you already have"

"You make it sound like a childish crush" Sherlock said annoyed.

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry; you can admit you are in love with John" Mary said.

Sherlock huffed. "So dramatic" he said.

"Whatever, you're pleased and I know it" Mary said. "You two were so cute lying there all cuddled up." Mary had to admit that the image of John and Sherlock asleep together was going to be burned into her brain for quite some time.

"It was rather pleasant though I'm not sure cuddle is the right word" Sherlock said. "What did John say this morning about it?"

"Not much" Mary said, "He asked why I did it and I told it was just convenient. Which of course it was…just for many reasons."

"Ah, how nice; you and John have reached the lying part of your relationship. How refreshing" Sherlock teased.

"I'm not lying to him" Mary retorted. "Well, not completely"

"Don't be offended; it happens to everyone. You can't be honest with a spouse one hundred percent of the time or so I have observed with other people" Sherlock said. His character on the telly died for the tenth time but he gave Mary a wide smile. "But you can be honest with your friends"

"What do you want?" Mary said, smelling his curiosity a mile away. "Must be big for you to admit we are friends"

"I'm not up to anything" Sherlock said, "I just want to know what you were about to tell me about John last night that got him racing up the stairs."

"Ah…..you weren't supposed to remember that" Mary said, regretting the causal remark now.

"I remember everything even when I'm intoxicated; it just takes me a while longer to recall it" Sherlock said smugly.

"John would kill me if I told you; I don't think I can tell you. I'm not sure you really want to hear it either" Mary said.

"And here I thought we were friends" Sherlock said dramatically.

"Ah, you're using guilt; nice social progress you've made" Mary said. "But I don't think it's going to work"

"You don't 'think' so that means there is room for progress" Sherlock noted.

"Well, here…I'll give you a clue and leave it to your deductive reasoning skills" Mary said slyly. "I was just going to share with you that I gave a very impressive impression of you the other night and John was very enthusiastic about his response to it"

Sherlock scrunched his face up as he concentrated to Mary's immense delight. "Oh, Mary that isn't a clue" he said scathingly. "That is a non-clue clue. That is…oh…OH"

Mary could see the dawning of the realization on Sherlock's face as the flush started on his cheeks and spread all the way to his ears.

"So, you feel like sharing anything, Sherlock?" Mary asked with a grin.

Sherlock's face continued to redden as he imploded in one himself. He jumped up quickly, looking around the flat flushed. "I, uh….I think I have an experiment to conduct" he said embarrassed before he fled out of the room and towards his bedroom with Mary laughing behind him.

…

John was bone tired as he walked up the stairs to 221B. It had been a long day where he'd been tired before he even started from his hangover and his daydreaming about the potential to be Sherlock's partner again. He wasn't sure that he would give up his job at the surgery to go back to running around full time with Sherlock again but it was definitely appealing. It paid crap money because Sherlock didn't seem that concerned with money and it was one of the most exhausting jobs that one could possibly imagine with the craziest hours ever. But it…it made John feel alive like nothing else in his life could possibly do and he just couldn't imagine not doing it again if Sherlock asked him. With all of that on his mind, it was hard to focus on curing flues.

When John walked into the flat to find it mostly dark he was sure that Mary had already gone to sleep and that Sherlock had disappeared somewhere. When he saw the two of them asleep on the couch in the glow of the television, John nearly jumped out of his skin.

This was getting out of hand…John thought as he seethed for a second. There was some cheesy romance movie on, the kind Mary always made him watch and that Sherlock would never ever watch, and they obviously fallen asleep while watching. Mary was curled up on the end of the couch with Sherlock leaning on her, both curled up in a blanket. It looked innocent enough but John just couldn't help but think that either Sherlock was becoming a woman or he was entirely too comfortable with Mary. His pregnant wife, Mary….

John went to his room to change into his pyjamas, still not sure whether or not to wake the two of them rudely up. Deciding to try and ignore it because he didn't feel like having a row this late at night, John climbed into bed, alone. As soon as he did, he knew it would be a mistake. As lonely as he felt seeing Sherlock and Mary so content had made him, trying to sleep alone was worse.

Lonely…was he lonely? Surely he wasn't lonely. Nothing had changed between Mary and himself; they were just as happy together. And he couldn't possibly be lonely living with Sherlock; he was a force that was larger than life. You couldn't possibly get a second to yourself with Sherlock around much less get lonely. So, it wasn't that he was lonely; he just felt…left out?

John felt embarrassed even admitting to himself in the dark alone but he was left out. When Sherlock had returned it had thrown John's life in chaos, or at least his emotions. Even though they had made progress, things were still strained with him and Sherlock. John wasn't sure that they would ever go back to normal; he had lost a lot of trust in Sherlock when he left and he continued to act as if he had no idea why John was so upset about it. They were never going to talk about it; John knew better than to expect that out of Sherlock. So likely it was never going to go back to the way it had been before he left. And yet Mary and Sherlock were only growing closer. Mary had known Sherlock such a short time and yet they got on with each other like John had never seen him get one with anyone, John included. And that was really the problem wasn't it? Sherlock and Mary were better friends than Sherlock and John had been or would ever been. Even thinking it made John feel like a whiny child.

After a restless half hour, John gave up and pushed the covers back to climb out of bed. He and Sherlock had never been the kind of friends that curled up on the couch and watched movies together; they weren't girls and they weren't gay after all. But John was going to be damned if he sat back and allowed Mary and Sherlock to grow closer to each other and further from him.

John stood by the couch and looked down at Mary and Sherlock for several minutes. Sherlock's arm was thrown over Mary's stomach, almost protectively and John felt a burst of heat he couldn't explain. Any sane man would push Sherlock away; any sane man would be furious at the implication whether it was intentional or not. That was _his_ wife after all and _his_ child growing inside of her. Maybe he wasn't sane; maybe he had never been sane. But all he felt was a rush of emotion at the innocent touch. Sherlock had saved John's life on countless occasions and John knew that he would do the same for Mary. When their baby was born, Sherlock would probably do that same for it. Because even through John felt betrayed by Sherlock's leaving him, for seeming to be unaffected by it, there was still some part of Sherlock that was intensely loyal.

Not giving himself a moment to second guess himself, John grabbed another blanket and sat on the small bit of couch left behind Sherlock's long legs. It felt awkward, crawling behind him; there was nowhere to lay but on Sherlock. John tucked his legs behind Sherlock's and lay tentatively against him. This was definitely new; this was definitely closer than they had ever been. It was even closer than they had been last night in bed together and there was no alcohol to blame it on. John could come up with an excuse if he needed it later but right now it felt…right.

John was tired and he was lonely in some ways so he just gave into it. He laid his head against Sherlock's head, not even that bothered by the curls ticking his cheeks and let himself fall asleep easily.


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock woke up happier than he could recall being in a very long time. This time he didn't even mistake the happy circumstances for drink or drugs; his mind was clear and it was real. He was completely sandwiched between Mary and John and completely at peace. The train wreck that was his mind had stilled in a way he'd never felt before and all he did feel was the sensation of Mary's head against his and John's weight heavy on him as he slept on. They were warm and soft and there was so much sensation, more sensation than Sherlock was used to; normally so much skin, so many arms and legs and fingers would be unwelcome. But now, it was just right.

He and Mary had spent most of the day together doing not much of anything; again that was so new to him. He had never enjoyed leisure much; he needed a problem to solve or something to fix but being with Mary, he enjoyed playing those stupid games or just reading on the couch together. She'd put in one of the horrible movies she enjoyed as they had ate dinner and they had watched it together until they'd gone to sleep. Sherlock had been sitting next to Mary while the movie played, feeling that so new sensation of wanting just to touch her; she had smiled out of the corner of his eye and pulled him toward her as if she knew. Of course she knew…..when he had suddenly started to think of the kiss that they had had shared, Mary gave him a gentle kiss on the head. It wasn't the same, but he knew it still meant something. People didn't just didn't kiss him all that often; then again, he usually didn't want them to. As he fell asleep with Mary's body keeping him warm, he actually felt… _loved._ Sad thought but Sherlock couldn't recall when he'd ever fall asleep next to someone clean and sober; probably never, and especially not someone that loved him.

When Sherlock had woken up he was struck not only by having Mary still under him but John a top him. When he had come home? Sherlock couldn't believe that John hadn't gotten angry and woke them up. What was going through his mind as he decided to sleep next to them rather than wake them up? Sherlock found that, so distracted by John's face on his shoulder and his arm on his hip, he couldn't come up with a single idea. He'd just have to…..go with it, as people said.

How had this happen to him? Sherlock didn't know. For most of his life he hadn't loved anyone. He'd had a handful of physical experiences, sometimes with men and sometimes with woman, but they were really to satisfy his curiosity. He had found them to both to be satisfying in the physical sense but emotionally there was nothing there. They were what John would call 'one night stands'. It was relatively easy to find partners, he found, as long as he didn't open his mouth; people generally found him attractive but they didn't care for his personality. They wanted to have sex with him but not date him which was fine for him because he didn't want to date them either and barely wanted to sleep with anyone either. A relationship with anyone would never work.

He'd been stunned when John had come into his life. He'd been interesting and loyal and Sherlock found he actually wanted to spend time with him. He had killed a man right in front of him mere hours after meeting, to save his life and Sherlock couldn't deny that he had been completely, totally impressed. John appreciated his work and he liked him even though he was often horrible to him. More and more, each day Sherlock found that he wanted to spend more time with John. His mind was getting more and more crowded with little details of John. Even he hadn't really been able to see it for what it was until he'd been on top of that building. Somewhere along the way he had come to love someone for the first time in his life. He loved John Watson and he only knew it once it was too late.

Now, something stranger was happening. Sherlock not only loved one person but two. Even after the shock of coming to care for John, Sherlock wasn't prepared for caring for Mary too. He'd wanted to hate her; she had taken John away. But he didn't hate her and she hadn't taken John away. She'd somehow made it all work; she was the irreplaceable glue.

Sherlock wasn't tired but he didn't get up or move at all from his spot even though he normally thought that staying in bed when not tired was unforgivable. Right now, he had two very big reasons for staying in bed and none of them were sleep.

….

The next morning John was curled up in the chair with his laptop checking e-mails and finding other ways to waste his time when Sherlock meandered downstairs. He was still wearing the pyjamas he had on that night and his hair was just as tousled. John had been surprised, and honestly a bit relieved, when he woke up and found himself alone on the couch. Mary had been in the bathroom getting ready for work and Sherlock had been in his room. With neither or them there John hadn't had to explain himself and now he'd leave it up to someone else to bring it up if they wanted to. Hopefully, no one would.

Sherlock grabbed a cup of tea from the kitchen and the morning paper before he flopped down wordlessly across from John in his own armchair. He rattled through the paper overly loud, louder than John could imagine for just reading the paper, before he crumpled it into a huge ball and threw it in the floor.

"Boring…boring!" He complained loudly. When John glanced up but didn't respond, Sherlock said even louder, "Boring!"

"No murders in the paper, I take it?" John asked casually as he typed out a reply to Stamford.

"Not even close" Sherlock grumbled. "What kind of world are we inhabiting where a dog's fifteenth birthday party is featured in the paper? What is wrong with people?"

John had to suppress a laugh. "It's really all going to hell in a handbasket. We might be taken over by elderly dogs and not murderous sociopaths" he said sarcastically.

"That would be hell indeed!" Sherlock agreed, obviously not put off by John's sarcasm.

John could feel Sherlock's eyes still on him as he tried to be interested on Facebook but he didn't say anything until Sherlock did.

"So…John…." He began and John could hear the rare hesitancy in his voice. "Are we…do you want…"

"Come on, Sherlock. Spit it out" John said bluntly, sensing where this was going and reverting to his callousness.

"Yes, of course" Sherlock said, running a hand through his mop of hair. "John, do you want to talk about…the sleeping?"

"Do _you_ want to talk about the sleeping?" John asked, closing his laptop, feeling strangely nervous. It was just sleep… _just_ sleeping; it wasn't a big deal.

"Uh…..no?" Sherlock said, looking oddly as if he wasn't sure.

"You were the one that asked the question" John pointed out. "We can talk about it if you want. If you'd prefer, I could tell you off for sleeping with my wife."

John laughed but Sherlock looked pale; pale enough that John spoke up a moment later. "It was a joke, Sherlock. You don't have to look like I punched you in the stomach." He said.

"Oh…..yes" Sherlock said, forcing a laugh as he realized John thought he was being ridiculous. "I just thought…..well…..I'm beginning to feel that…"

"Yes?" John asked, doing his best to keep the urgency out of his voice. Was Sherlock actually about to talk about his feelings? Did John even want to know his feelings? Some silent corner of his mind was afraid of what Sherlock might have to say about Mary. But then again the only alternative was that Sherlock might say something about him and that was worse.

Sherlock's face contorted in a number of confused ways as he seemed to think over what to say. John was growing more and more nervous as the time drug on, afraid what Sherlock could possibly have to say that was so important. He looked relieved when his mobile rang and he had to answer it. Honestly, John was a bit relieved; after all of the conflicting feelings last night he wasn't sure he knew what to say either.

Sherlock only spoke in clipped one word answers but John could tell instantly that Sherlock was talking to Lestrade about a case. That excited glean he always got when he was given a tough problem was already there.

As soon as Sherlock hung up the phone, he jumped up from his chair, hands drawn toward his lips in excitement. "Ah, the world isn't so boring as I imagined it was" he said, a smile turning the corners of his lips. "That was Lestrade. Body in the park, decapitated; possible satanic connotations. This is brilliant!"

Sherlock ran toward his room to get dressed and John felt a slight disappointment hit him. He wanted to go with Sherlock but he seemed yet again too excited to think about asking him. John didn't feel he could hoist himself on Sherlock without asking and he wasn't going to ask. He already felt desperate; no need to look it.

John was really beginning to grow sour with disappointment as he sat in his chair waiting for Sherlock to come back. When Sherlock did come back, he was dressed to his usual nines; perfectly ready for anything. He was halfway into his coat when he looked at John confused.

"John, why aren't you dressed? Didn't you hear me say we had a decapitated body? What's wrong with you?" Sherlock asked as if he doubted John's sanity for not wanting to see a headless body.

John couldn't hold back the smile that came to him even though he knew Sherlock would be able to read everything in it. "I wasn't sure…." John started but Sherlock cut him off with the biggest, most dazzling smiles that it stopped the words in John's mouth.

"I always need my blogger" Sherlock said, still wearing that winning smile and making John feel like he genuinely needed him. Like a drug that John could never say no to, he already felt the adventure flowing through his veins.

…

Running with Sherlock was like nothing John had ever felt in his life and it was unlikely there was anything to compare it to. When Sherlock had said a case John had ran towards danger with him without a thought to his safety. The past three days had been bodies, dodging bullets and it was ultimately what had led them to chasing a killer through the streets on a Thursday afternoon. John's heart was racing like it might burst from his chest, his lungs and legs burned from overuse, his mind warring between excitement and fear as adrenaline coursed through his veins; this was how John felt most alive.

"Damn it…he's getting away!" Sherlock growled in frustration as they barreled down an alley toward the man that Sherlock had finally located as the killer in question. John knew how frustrated he would be if he got away; he also knew it'd be ten times harder to catch him again now that he knew they were on to him. John spoke next without even thinking about doing otherwise.

"You keep going this way; I'll loop around and cut him off!" John said. John was already running around the corner when Sherlock called out behind him, "No! John, wait!"

It was too late but John wouldn't have heeded him anyway; he never had before. As John rounded the corner he came face to face with the man who had killed and decapitated at least three people. He was a lot taller and bigger than John but that didn't stop him; most people were bigger than him but he had more training in fighting than people expected and he used every bit of it to his advantage.

John launched himself at the killer who had a maniacal, confident glean in his eyes; he obviously wasn't expecting much of a fight. John used all of his strength as pulled back his arm and gave the man the hardest punch he could muster.

As the killer fell back on the ground, John wrapped his arm around the man's neck in a voice. "Sherlock!" he called out, directing Sherlock's attention to where they were. He knew that he would be calling Lestrade and telling the back up to come and John didn't want to have to hold back this man for longer than necessary.

The man had clearly recovered as he struggled against John's hold; with a strong pull the man had managed to flip John onto his back. The wind was knocked out of him but he was quick to push back. John only saw the blade glint in the light for a second before he felt it slice through the skin on his shoulder. Immediately John fell back as he felt a burst of warmth of blood soaking his jumper.

John felt a twinge of fear as he clamped his hand over the wound. John heard shots ring out through the air and he felt almost paralyzed. _Sherlock…_ for one terrifying moment John stared up at the sky, grey and dim, and felt his world crashing down.

"Get on the ground! Get on the fucking ground!" Sherlock yelled. It barely sounded like Sherlock's voice but it was; it sounded primal and mildly terrifying. John struggled into half a sitting position, leaning against the wall. From this position he could see the killer on the ground, face down as Sherlock towered over him. He was pointing John's gun at him (when he managed to wrangle that from him without his noticing?) with a positively wild look in his eye. John had never seen Sherlock look that way at a criminal; with a red look like that in Sherlock's eye John could believe him capable of murder himself. What had set him off?

"You stay right there! If you get up, I will not hesitate to blow your head off!" Sherlock yelled at the man in a most un-Sherlock like way before turned toward John.

The change in Sherlock positively night and day. When he had been looking at the criminal, he had been sure, stonily composed, with anger and darkness in every line of his face. He looked murderous, dangerous…But the second that he turned on John it all fell away. His eyes were big and glassy; they were full of fear. He looked pale and John was dismayed to see his hands shaking. Sherlock was scared.

"You're hurt, John! Please say you're not hurt!" Sherlock said. His voice trembled and John was not mistaken to think his lip trembled. Sherlock's hands went to John's face, one on each cheek, cradling his face. They were cold and shaking and John felt dizzy.

John's eyes were stuck on Sherlock's. There was such an open, naked sense of fear and affection in those eyes…..John had never seen a look like in all the years he'd known Sherlock.

"John!" Sherlock said, his voice begging, fearful.

With a great effort, John pulled his gaze away from Sherlock's and pulled back his jumper to reveal the wound. It was still bleeding faintly but it wasn't deep; it wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it was. Relief coursed through him.

"It's nothing, Sherlock. It's just a flesh wound" John said, smiling and feeling shaky from relief and the excitement.

Sherlock examined the cut, a smile growing on his pale face as well. "You're right…it's not nearly as bad as I thought" he agreed.

In one swift motion, Sherlock let go of John and went back to the man lying on the ground; he obviously believed Sherlock's threat because he hadn't gotten up.

"You better be damn thankful that you didn't hurt John; it would have cost you your life" Sherlock said with a somewhat wicked sneer on his face, gun still pointed at him.

Sherlock had tossed John a handkerchief that he used to press over the wound and it had mostly stopped bleeding by the time that Lestrade and the police arrived. John watched in a stunned, shocked state as they cuffed the criminal and put him in the back of the car. John was still on an adrenaline high from the chase and the fight and mingling with it was a mind numbing confusion. John had never seen Sherlock act that way; why had he? John had been hurt plenty of times on cases and much worse than this. Why did Sherlock lose his mind? John had never seen him look so dangerous. At the same time, he'd never seen that look in Sherlock's eyes at him; his hands on his face had almost been…tender.

Lestrade was prodding Sherlock to get into the car and come to the Yard with them but he was firmly objecting.

"No, I can deal with all of that nonsense tomorrow; John needs my assistance. Did you not hear me say he was injured?" Sherlock was frantic and it didn't make sense to John at all. Was this really the same man who had been gone for two years? Was he really upset that Sherlock seemed so callous only a few days ago?

John struggled up to his feet, walking over to Sherlock and Lestrade. His shoulder ached and he was little dizzy but he was otherwise fine. "Sherlock, it's okay. Go with Greg; I'll be fine" John assured him.

"You don't know what you're saying. The idiotic paperwork can wait until tomorrow; they have the killer which is the important thing anyway" Sherlock said firmly.

"Sherlock, you're making a bigger deal-" John started but Sherlock cut him off.

Sherlock's hand grasped John's arm tightly. "We're going home" he said in a tone that suggested no arguments. As Sherlock led him toward a cab, John just went along with it. For once, John didn't want to argue with him.

…

Sherlock didn't say anything the entire ride home and it made John more uncomfortable than his stable wound ever could. John had seen Sherlock be nearly silent for days on end when he was belong moody but it was nothing like this; this was loaded silence. Sherlock had been so relieved that John's wound wasn't serious that John hadn't expected him to cloud up again but he had. Was he angry John had made him feel concerned? He had no idea.

Rain was pounding heavily on the roof as Sherlock and John walked into 221B. Mary went to dinner with a friend so the flat was completely silent. John was dying for Sherlock to say something, to break the ice. When he did, it wasn't exactly what John had expected.

"Get in here" Sherlock said, somewhat aggressively, taking John's hand and pulling him toward the bathroom. He pulled John inside and pushed him onto the closed toilet lid. "Take your shirt off" his voice was almost a bark but even so John obeyed. It hurt but he wrestled out of his bloody shirt and threw it on the floor.

"Are you angry, Sherlock?" John cautioned to ask as Sherlock dug through the medicine cabinet for bandages.

"No I'm not angry" Sherlock said in a bitter tone as he located the antiseptic and slammed it on the counter.

"You kind of seem angry" John said, trying for a laugh to ease the tension but Sherlock gave him a death glare.

"I'm not angry!" Sherlock said contradictorily. "What you did was very stupid, John. Why do you have to be such an idiot?"

Sherlock called John stupid on a regular basis so it didn't really throw him, though this time he had to admit that he didn't see what he had done that warranted it. "What exactly did I do that was so stupid? I stopped the killer, if you didn't notice" John said.

"I told you not to do that and you did it anyway!" Sherlock said angrily.

"Not to do what?" John asked.

"Not to attack that maniac; we should have never split up!" Sherlock said. His voice was positively shaking now; John had rarely seen him this angry.

"I was trying to help" John said incredulously. "You said he was getting away; I was trying to prevent that. If he had gotten away, it would have been difficult to catch him. If I'm not there to help you then what am I there for?"

John wasn't expecting it when Sherlock rounded on him. He put his hands on John's shoulders, his long fingers almost touching his sore wound. His face was only an inch from John's and he felt a cold, frozen sensation in stomach; he'd never been this close to Sherlock and from this vantage point he could see everything he normally wouldn't have. He could see the flecks of color in Sherlock's eyes, the occasional freckle break the porcelain color of his skin, the rare grey hair in his midnight curls, the ones Mary had called 'gorgeous' ; now he could see that wet, glassy look coming back as if Sherlock might actually shed tears. John had seen Sherlock fake cry before but never real tears.

"You could have been hurt…..really hurt. This scratch could have been serious" Sherlock said, his voice shaking.

John was very aware of how close Sherlock was; John had an irrational moment where he thought about throwing his arms around him in a hug. Sherlock's concern was so pure and real; it made John feel a surge of affection toward him. "Sherlock, what we do is dangerous. Both of us have been shot and stabbed multiple times" John said. "The only way to be safe would be not to do this anymore."

"I know…..I know that" Sherlock said, shaking his head. "I guess I just….."

Sherlock trailed off, his eyes locked on John's. There was meaning there but Sherlock didn't express it. Sherlock's eyes flicked down toward John's mouth and for one crazy moment John thought he might try to kiss him or something. But as soon as it started, it was over just as quickly and John felt foolish for imagining it.

Sherlock pulled back, his ears as red as John had ever seen them. "You frightened me" Sherlock admitted, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

Sherlock was taking the lid off the antiseptic to fix John's wound when they hear Mary's voice in the flat. "Hello?"

"We are in the bathroom Mary" Sherlock called out, "You're husband decided to go and get himself stabbed by a murder"

"WHAT?"

John heard the panic in Mary's voice and then heard her thumping footsteps. "What did you have to do that for? She worries enough as it is" John said. Sherlock just smiled; well, at least things weren't awkward anymore…..

Mary looked frantic as she barged into the bathroom. The second that John saw her face he said, "Honestly, I'm fine…Sherlock is exaggerating"

Mary ignored his words and came to examine his wound. "It's just a surface cut…you had me scared to death!" Mary gave Sherlock a good punch to the stomach which John was all too pleased at.

Sherlock just smiled though John thought there was something sad in his eyes. "Now that you're here, I'll leave John in your capable hands" he said before leaving the restroom.

John watched Sherlock retreat before he turned toward Mary. She had begun to dab at the wound, cleaning it and she looked at him expectantly.

"So…..what happened?" she prodded him gently.

"Really, Sherlock is being dramatic. It was nothing" John said, feeling suddenly deflated and tired. "We were chasing that man who had decapitated those people and he was getting away. I ran after him and tackled him. He tried to stab me…..nothing new. He obviously was unsuccessful."

John tried to make is sound nonchalant but he could see the worry in her eyes. John was quiet the rest of the evening; Sherlock was in his room and didn't come out the entire time. John was tired and he and Mary turned in early.

As soon as they got in to bed, Mary curled up next to him, lying her head on his uninjured shoulder. She was running her fingers lightly down his chest as they lay quietly in the dark when John finally broke the silence.

"You alright?" he asked. She had been so quiet and that wasn't like Mary at all unless something was wrong.

Mary turned and looked up at John as John played with her hair, feeling quite content in the quiet moment. "I'm fine" she said truthfully, "I know what you two do and it's not that surprising to me; I'm just glad you weren't really hurt. But…it just seemed you were upset like there was something that you weren't saying"

Leave it to Mary to see right through it all; just like Sherlock. "The wound didn't bother me; I've had worse" John said, "I was just bothered by how Sherlock reacted to it."

"What do you mean? Was he his usual crass self?" Mary asked half joking.

"Actually, it was the complete opposite" John said.

"Really?" Mary asked in surprise.

"Yeah" John said, "When that man stabbed me…you should have seen the look on Sherlock's face; it was like he was manic. For a moment, I actually thought he was going to shoot that guy"

"No…not really?" Mary asked astonished.

"People always say things like Sherlock likes death…gets off on it "John said. "Some people act like maybe he's a killer himself because he enjoys is so much but I know he's not. But the way he looked at the guy today…..he seemed capable of it. Then he got all…I don't know…sweet almost, with me when he thought I was really hurt. It was really weird."

John wanted to tell Mary that he thought for a moment that Sherlock was going to kiss him; hell, he wanted to tell someone. But it sounded crazy even in his head and it was the sort of thing best left unsaid so he did.

"I don't think it's all that weird" Mary said, "I mean, he does care a lot about you. You worried him."

"Yeah, but…it's no different than any other time. It shouldn't be at least" John said.

"Maybe he's just getting in touch with his emotions more" Mary said. "I have been trying to help him be more…human, you know."

John saw a look pass over Mary's face; again he had the feeling that she wasn't telling him everything but he couldn't possibly imagine what it was. Instead of wracking his brain, he simply pulled Mary closer and closed his eyes to oncoming sleep. "Maybe that's it" he said, "It would do Sherlock some good if you rubbed off on him."

 _Ah, so our stubborn trio gets a little closer together in this chapter :) Hope you all enjoyed it. If you are a fan of the original canon you might have noticed the stabbing scene was a nod to the original story_ _"The Three Garridebs'_


	14. Chapter 14

Mary woke up in the middle of the night, her eyes burning from fatigue but her stomach was rumbling. As soon as she'd gotten rid of her pregnancy sickness, she had gotten to the point where she wanted to eat everything, especially in the middle of the night. Mary rolled over toward John who was fast asleep and tried to go back to sleep but her stomach growled too persistently; she had to get a snack first.

Mary wandered downstairs and found Sherlock sitting on the couch, staring at the telly. He didn't seem to notice her so Mary walked into the kitchen. As she riffled through the cupboards and refrigerator but there wasn't much; Mary found a tub of ice cream at the back of the freezer that was mostly good except for a layer of freezer burn. She chipped it away with her spoon and walked back into the living room.

When Mary sat down on the opposite side of the couch from Sherlock and began to eat her ice cream, she could see how zoned out Sherlock was. Not only did he not speak or look up at her but he was staring at a program about space, a subject that she knew he didn't know or care anything about; John had once said that Sherlock didn't even know the earth went around the sun because it was 'non-essential' information. He had a blanket draped over his head, knees pulled up towards his chest as he stared off into nothingness; he looked like a scared little boy in that moment and Mary felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

"Sherlock…you alright?" Mary asked gently, watching him for a response. She'd heard John's side of the story but she suspected that there was more to it than John had suspected. Despite Sherlock's obvious desire, to her at least, to make more of their relationship, old habits died hard and Sherlock was still guarded.

When Sherlock didn't speak, Mary went on. "John told me what happened earlier" she said. "Want to talk about it too?"

"No" Sherlock said simply, shutting down.

Mary smiled, putting down the ice cream; she knew how to fix that. Sherlock put on a good face but he was eager for attention. "Come here" Mary said, patting her lap.

Sherlock glanced at Mary as if he wanted to deny her but she could see already he'd made up his mind. "I'll pet your hair" she said, tantalizingly.

"You don't pet me; I'm not a dog" Sherlock said worriedly but he was already laying back on Mary's lap, looking up at her.

Mary ran her fingers through Sherlock's curls; they weren't as smooth as normal and they were filled with tangles. He'd obviously neglected it a bit with the case. "John said you went a bit scary out there; he thought you might kill that guy" Mary said. She kept her tone light but there was a question there too.

"I wanted to…for a moment. I would have if he had seriously hurt John" Sherlock said. There was a note of fear in his voice.

"That scared you didn't it? You didn't expect to feel that way did you?" Mary said understandingly.

"I've always been concerned about John's safety; it's hard to see him hurt" Sherlock said, "But today…it was like I was out of control. For a minuet all I saw was John laying on the ground with blood on him…I thought it was more serious. I went a bit insane…just the thought that I might lose him…" Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. "Why is this happening? I can't overreact like that every time he gets hurt."

"Sure you can. You love him, Sherlock" Mary said, "That's what happens when you really love someone; it makes you a bit vulnerable in the sense that you worry more about them. They make their selves essential to you."

"I want it to go away" Sherlock said, "I want to not care."

"No you don't, not really" Mary said, giving Sherlock's hair a long stroke, earning a purr out of Sherlock.

Sherlock was quiet for several long minuets so that Mary almost wondered if he had fallen asleep in her lap. Then his eyes suddenly popped open and he looked up at Mary.

"I almost kissed John today. Thought you should know"

He said it almost offhand, unembarrassed so that Mary had to smile. "Thanks for your honesty" Mary said, "What prevented you from actually doing it?"

"We were practically arguing; in the bathroom right before you came home" Sherlock said, "I didn't think it would be appreciated. Honestly, I got scared. Scared he would reject me. Damn emotions…"

"Oh…it's so much to get used to isn't it?" Mary asked sympathetically.

"You're not mad? That I almost did?" Sherlock asked in surprise.

Mary laughed. "Did you forget the conversation where I suggested we basically all shag each other?" she asked. She was delighted at the blush and schoolboy like grin on his face.

"No…I definitely didn't forget that" he said. He closed his eyes, nestling his face closer to Mary, into her slightly bigger stomach. Mary played with his hair until she heard the sound of his gentle sleep-breathing, wondering how she had gotten so lucky.

….

After the stabbing incident, John worried that Sherlock might have been put off on taking him on any more cases. Sherlock, while John knew he deep down worried about John's safety, never really paid it that much attention. Sherlock had gotten concerned when John had been shot before but he'd never seen that look of pure terror in Sherlock's eyes as he had when he'd been lying there bleeding. Had it been something to do with his being away? John had seen something akin to it the night that Sherlock and Mary had pulled him out of the bonfire. John wondered if something that happened to him while he'd been away for those two years. Maybe something had happened that made Sherlock lose his nerve. John really hoped that wasn't the case; he wanted the old Sherlock back and he wanted to go back on cases with him. If Sherlock stopped taking him on cases now because of a stupid little stab wound then John was going to be extremely disappointed.

John was glad to eventually see this wasn't the case. The week after the stabbing was a quiet one; Sherlock didn't have a case and was his usual whiny self. He complained about everything, blew up things in the kitchen and was generally horrible but it was his normal horrible self and John was glad for at least that. They went out a few nights to nice dinners and John was surprised to see how much Mary could actually get Sherlock to eat. They came home afterwards and a few times Sherlock played his violin so John and Mary could dance; once they watched a movie together and all fell asleep together on the couch again. Like the first time, they still didn't mention it. Despite John's misgivings about staying here, things had settled into a somewhat normal pattern and John had to admit he was happy.

After a week with no case Lestrade finally called Sherlock on a case about a drug lord who had been evading the police for years. It wasn't up to Sherlock's usual caliber but he wanted a case and so he took it. Sherlock was always a bit disappointed when the cases didn't involve corpses but at least he had a problem to solve. John was thrilled when Sherlock asked him to come with him. He hadn't been expecting it, really. All this case had been so far was going on a few stake outs with Sherlock, trying to find where this drug lord had his major stash which was boring even for John but even so it was nice. It was nice to be along with Sherlock even if it meant they were silently sitting in a car while Sherlock 'was thinking'.

In the years John had known Sherlock, he'd gotten quite used to Sherlock's odd requests. He hated to admit how willingly he went along with some of Sherlock's antics but it was a truth, a truth he wouldn't acknowledge, that Sherlock could say jump and John would say how high. He always did what he wanted him to. But that didn't mean that there was occasionally the moments that even he gave pause to Sherlock's strange behavior.

John was sitting in his chair reading a book one afternoon when Sherlock burst into the flat. "Ah, John, there you are…here put this on" Sherlock said in a rush, thrusting a shopping bag at John. When John looked up and took the bag, seeing Sherlock he couldn't help bursting into laughter.

John was used to Sherlock's disguises but this was something else. Sherlock had on a pair of black leather pants and was wearing a tight, red sleeveless top that showed his (surprisingly fit) arms, complete with several fake tattoos. Sherlock had taken the look all of the way, his curls whipped into shape by what looked like huge amounts of hair gel, several clip on earrings and what looked suspiciously like make-up. John hadn't laughed this hard in weeks.

"What is your problem?" Sherlock asked, frowning with that glazed look he got any time someone tried to talk about something emotional.

John could barely talk for laughing. "You look like a rock star" he finally managed to squeak out between laughs. God, he wished Mary were here; he should take a picture so she'd be able to see this hilarious sight.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if he found John tedious. "Oh, so you're going to make fun of the clothes" he said tiredly "Honestly, John are you twelve?"

"Not just the clothes…..are you wearing eyeliner?" John said, whipping tears out of his own eyes.

Sherlock's cheeks blushed even though it was hard to tell under the makeup. "Mary assisted me earlier" he said tightly. He was obviously starting to feel embarrassed which was rewarding.

"She did this to you?" John asked, his respect for Mary increasing exponentially. He dissolved into laughter again.

"Well, you have fun laughing" Sherlock said, "You've got something in that bag to wear as well so we will see who will be laughing then."

John was suddenly afraid to look in the bag; Sherlock seemed too pleased about it. "You going to tell me what this all about?" he asked curiously.

"I believe that I have located Werner's secret drug stores….no thanks to you" Sherlock said resentfully even though he hadn't asked for John's help in two days. "It's in a high end nightclub that he manages. These are our disguises to get in"

"Honestly? This is what is considered high end fashion?" John said, gesturing toward Sherlock.

Sherlock looked pouty. "Just put your clothes on" he said.

John took the bag of clothes to his bedroom, afraid to look inside. They weren't as bad as Sherlock's; at least there was no leather. There were jeans that looked way too small, ripped and bedazzled in a style that John wouldn't be caught dead in except that he was already putting them on. It took forever to wiggle them on and they were the most uncomfortable trousers John had ever had on; he couldn't even keep his pants on with them on. The shirt was no better; he didn't care so much that it was pink but it looked exactly like a woman's shirt and was completely see through. Was this an insult to John's dignity? John certainly felt a bit emasculated as he walked back into the sitting room where Sherlock was and he was surprised when Sherlock didn't laugh at him.

"You've never looked less like an army man before" Sherlock said with a smirk, looking him over.

"Yeah, that's great" John said sarcastically, "You know I'm flattered that you think this is my jeans size but these trousers are horrible" John shifted trying to adjust…..things…..without being noticed. Sherlock grinned; he had noticed.

"Oh please, John. I know your real size; they are supposed to be tight" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

Well, there went what was left of his dignity. "Okay, so…tell me again. Why is this necessary?" he asked, feeling more and more irritated by the moment.

"I said we are going to a club; this is a disguise" Sherlock said. 'Duh' was implied.

"I suppose I probably don't want to know what kind of club?" John asked, feeling more awkward.

"No….I doubt you do" Sherlock said honestly.

John was thrown off when Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him into the bathroom. He barely had a moment to protest before Sherlock was rubbing huge amount of hair gel into his short hair and spraying enough hairspray on him to suffocate an elephant. "Oh, come on, Sherlock" he complained. "I'm 44 years old…." John felt like he looked like a teenager now, or worse…a middle aged man trying to look young.

"And I'm 39…..big deal" Sherlock huffed, obviously completely missing the point as he continued to fuss over John's hair. He had a feeling, even for them, this was going to be a weird night.

….

John stepped out of the cab feeling completely ridiculous. They hadn't even done anything yet and John already felt like this was one of the most insane nights they had had. Maybe it was the makeup; that was obviously going to be left out of this night's blog entry. Letting Sherlock put makeup on him was one of the single weirdest things ever and he wished Mary would have still been there to do for him like Sherlock. On second thought….he didn't want Mary to see him like this.

The second that the bouncer at the door let them in after Sherlock had flashed them some sort of card he had, he took John's hand. It was cold and sweaty at the same time and it felt alien in John's hand; oddly though, there was something comforting about it as well in this awkward place.

"We are going to pretend to be boyfriends, obviously. Let me do the talking" Sherlock said in a take control, assertive voice.

 _Obviously…_ Leave it to Sherlock to take something that was already weird and make it flat out mortifying and then act as if it was normal. "Why does that not make me feel better?" John asked, sarcastically. His own hand was already sweating in Sherlock's.

As they walked into the club, John's senses were assaulted by lights and music and so many people crowded into a small area. There was a huge bar and dance floor that was occupied by dozens of happy club goers dancing in what John could only describe as what looked to him like a fit; a sign he was too old to be here though he saw plenty of people who did seem to be his age. There were plush booths dotted around the perimeter where couples and groups of all fashions seemed to be getting very cozy and intimate with each other; John could only hazard a guess what happened behind the red and black doors at the far end of the room that was guarded by more bouncers.

John followed as Sherlock led him to the bar. He was looking for some sign of emotion on Sherlock's face as to how this all affected him; John knew he hated places like this. But he was impassive and controlled; he was in case mode.

John was still scanning the club as Sherlock sat beside him at the bar and order a beer and vodka for himself. John took the beer and drank it more enthusiastically than he normally would have and gestured toward Sherlock's untouched shot of vodka. "Drinking on a case?" he asked, surprised. Sherlock normally didn't even eat on a case, saying that the digestion alone slowed him down.

"Of course not" Sherlock said, his eyes scanning the club, barely paying attention to John. "I'm looking for Warner. Those doors at the back lead to the private rooms and that's where I'm 99% sure his drug stores are. We need to find him and convince him to let us back there."

John looked at the doors and the giddy people being let in; sex was a given behind those doors and who knew what else. "Sherlock, we aren't going to have to do anything weird, are we?" he asked cautiously, finishing off the beer in record time.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do you even want me to take you places?" he asked. His voice to anyone else would have sounded like he was merely annoyed his boyfriend wasn't more creative.

"Yes, of course I do" John said too eagerly. "But…what's behind the doors?"

Sherlock huffed. "I assure you your heterosexuality will remain intact" he was clearly annoyed. John still thought it had been a valid question.

Sherlock scanned for a few more minutes before he said, "There he is. Third booth to the left of the dance floor" Sherlock pointed out.

John looked to see a surprisingly young blonde man sitting in the middle of the booth surrounded by a group of men and women, talking and drinking. "That's Warner?" John asked. He looked barely 25.

"Yes" Sherlock said, his eyes intent, the wheels rolling inside his head. "He's quite ambitious; well, as ambitious as a drug lord can be"

Sherlock turned toward John, his face just as controlled and emotionless as ever. "Alright, John; you're up" he said, giving John a bracing smile.

"What do you mean I' m up?" John asked. He had that tinge of nerves he felt when he could sense Sherlock about to do something especially crazy.

"Go talk to him; chat him up" Sherlock said encouragingly. "You have to convince him to let us behind the doors"

"What?" John asked. This wasn't his normal area of 'help' in a case. "What happened to 'let me do the talking'?"

"That was the plan" Sherlock said, "However, I've been watching him for five minutes and he's been watching _you_ this entire time. You'll get further with him."

John felt a blush color his cheeks; he tried not to feel pleased that he had been essentially checked out by this guy for last five minutes. "Further?" John asked question, seeing where this was going.

"I expect you'll have to snog him a bit but that should do enough to get us behind the doors" Sherlock said it as if it was the most natural thing, as if he knew anything about it in the first place.

"What!? No!" John said, his face fully red and flustered now. "What happened to 'keeping my heterosexuality in place'?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's an act, John. Don't be a baby" he said.

John never put up a fight and he never told Sherlock no; he always just went along with it. But this was where John drew the line. "No, I'm not doing it" John said, "You do it"

Sherlock scowled at him but John didn't care. "Fine, just sit here and do nothing. Don't follow me." he said.

To John's utter shock, Sherlock downed his shot and sauntered over to Warner's booth, leather trousers squeaking all the while. John turned around on his stool so he could fully appreciate the sight of Sherlock failing miserably. It wasn't that he wanted Sherlock to fail exactly; he just couldn't wait to watch him try and chat up a drug lord.

John watched Sherlock approach the table and what he would have given to be a fly on the wall. Sherlock said not to follow him and he seemed pretty serious about it so John thought it best not to try him. Besides, he guessed he really didn't have any area to complain since he'd refused what Sherlock had told him to do. Sherlock was really quick to suggest that John snog the guy; he'd like to see Sherlock try that.

As John watched Sherlock talk to the group at the table he could see a great many changes. Sherlock's back was to John but he could tell a difference in the way Sherlock stood, and the gestures he used as he talked. Sherlock was flirting and the people at the table were responding. Sherlock was an attractive man; John wasn't blind enough not to notice. He could imagine the power he'd have over people if he had charm. Which…it appeared that he might…..Warner might have been checking him out before but his eyes were firmly on Sherlock now.

John watched in amazement as the people in the booth made room for Sherlock. Sherlock slid into the booth, taking a spot next to Warner. Now that John could see Sherlock's face he was even more surprised. John knew it was all an act but it was bloody good act; John had never seen that expression on Sherlock's face and if he didn't know better, he'd have been fooled. His eyes were sparkling with interest, smiling so warmly John nearly felt it even though it wasn't directed at him. John had seen Sherlock flirt occasionally with a woman for a case but this…this was impressive. His eyes were locked on Warner's, looking engaged and actually interested in what he was saying. It was like Sherlock had untapped special potential; it was like he was a different person.

John had been watching the spectacle with a laugh for several minutes when he nearly fell off his stool. Resting a hand on Warner's cheek, Sherlock leaned in and kissed him. John hoped that no one was watching him because he knew he was blowing whatever composure he was supposed to have; his mouth was hanging open no matter how much he tried to gain composure.

Kiss wasn't even the right word for it; snog had been appropriate when Sherlock said it. His hand was on Warner's cheek still, thumb gently stroking it as his mouth opened further, tongue probing. Warner's hands were rifling through Sherlock's hair, unsurprisingly everyone loved that hair. Every woman he'd ever heard mention anything about it seemed to want nothing more than to run their fingers through it; even Mary said it was gorgeous. Unbidden, he thought about Mary and her dirty mouth, the things she had insinuated _; "you close your eyes and imagine he's between your legs, that run your fingers through those gorgeous curls while he sucks you off. Admit it…admit it, John"._ Maybe he had admitted it but he had never actually touched it and certainly not the way Warner was now; both hands in while his mouth practically devoured Sherlock's. John felt a wave of anger come over him.

He felt hot, flustered and absolutely furious. Why? It was like an open wound he didn't want to press for fear of making it bleed. If he tried to analyze this he already knew he wouldn't like the answer. He had no real reason to be angry. It was all fake and not real and even if it was what did it matter to John? It shouldn't have any effect on him. He'd seen Sherlock kiss people before, right? No, wrong, very wrong….Sherlock had seen John kiss multiple women but John had never seen Sherlock kiss not one single person. Sherlock had always shown exactly zero interest in anyone ever unless you counted the Woman which he'd only ever texted as far as John knew. He'd meant what he had told her; _who the hell knows about Sherlock…_ Women, men, who knew what Sherlock liked? John had kind of always assumed he was asexual or something akin to it. John knew this kiss was an act but Sherlock had had to learn how to kiss like THAT from somewhere. A rush of anger flooded through John.

John turned back to the bartender and ordered another beer, tearing his eyes off Sherlock. He'd be damned if he was going to sit and watch and open a can of worms that could just stay buried if he had anything to say about it. Maybe there was a time he would have…but no. John drank his beer with gusto; Sherlock would no doubt have objections to John drinking this much on a case but Sherlock was too busy at the moment to notice. He was sitting in the lap of a kid fifteen years his junior who looked like a model, being thoroughly snogged. Sherlock would be able to tell the second that he saw him that he'd drunk more and John hoped he called him on it. God, he hoped he did and then he could yell at him.

John was feeling a lot calmer by the time he finished his third beer; he had to remain calm. He was on a case; this was all for a case. His head was getting a slight buzz and everything didn't seem so bad as long as he stayed here and stared into his glass.

John was staring at the dregs at the bottom of the glass when a hand roughly pulled on his shoulder.

"Come on, John; we're in" Sherlock said brightly, pulling him again. "If anyone asks, your name is Matt and I'm Peter."

John turned toward Sherlock who looked thoroughly snogged, his lips swollen and his hair sticking out in odd places. John made a joke because what else could he do? "Have a nice time, Romeo?" he asked with a sort.

Sherlock flipped him off; John was actually impressed he'd made such an impression. "That was horrible; I blame you and I won't let you forget it" he said, touching his lips worriedly.

"I'm sure you won't" John said, jumping off the stool with a grin. He felt immensely better knowing Sherlock had not enjoyed that as much as it had appeared he had.

Sherlock took John's hand again and John was sure they both felt better for it; this was one of the oddest nights John could recall in a long time and it was nice to feel a little grounded to Sherlock. Sherlock pulled them toward the door, where the bouncer was already expecting them and opened it for them to pass.


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Warning: Chapter contains adult/sexual content_

"He said he'd meet us down here in ten minutes so we have to be fast" Sherlock whispered as they passed underground. "I'm sure there will be a key code and I'm fairly sure what it will be but I still will need a moment to test it. Walk fast."

Walk fast was a harder order to obey than it normally would have been for John; there was so much to get distracted by. There were several closed doors but mostly every door down here was open or had no door at all revealing all manner of sexual partners doing things John had only ever seen in porn. It was very difficult for him to keep from standing and staring; only Sherlock's hand pulling him along the hallway kept him going.

It was almost a relief when they passed through a door that led to a dark, utility corridor. At the end of the hallway was a door with a keypad.

"There it is!" Sherlock said, his eyes alight with excitement. He tore off toward the door and John followed quickly after him. John was surprised when, as they reached the door, Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulders roughly and slammed him against the door. Sherlock pressed up against him, plastering him against the door. Sherlock's face was as near to his as it had been the day he'd been stabbed, an intense look in his eyes. He was suddenly very aware of their overly tight trousers.

"What are you doing!?" John burst out, feeling sweat cropping up along his entire body.

"Shut up" Sherlock barked. "I need a cover if anyone comes down here."

Sherlock moved his face so that it was in the crook of John's neck, looking down at the keypad as he typed in possible combinations. John was sweating through his stupid, thin shirt, focusing on breathing; what was the cover? John could reasonably assume that if anyone came down here Sherlock would pretend to snog him, as if they were just looking for a private corner for a dirty tryst. Pressed between the cold metal door and Sherlock's unbelievably warm body, John felt used. He was used to feeling used; wasn't that what an assistant was? But this just felt….different. John didn't mind having his abilities exploited and used to work tasks but being asked to kiss Warner and then having to kiss Sherlock if someone came in made him feel as if his body was being used and he didn't care for it.

John kept an eye out over Sherlock's shoulder, praying no one would come. It was hard to see; his face was full of Sherlock's neck, radiating heat under John's face, and those damn curls in face. John was relieved when Sherlock jumped back in glee as the door popped open. John immediately put several feet of distance between them.

"I think we better call Lestrade and tell him case solved" Sherlock said proudly as the door swung open and reveled more cocaine than John had imagined he could see in one place.

…

The rest of the night was long and rather tedious but John was somewhat thankful for that. Lestrade and the rest of the Yard had stormed the club and confiscated the drugs; John watched Sherlock like a hawk because him around that much cocaine was like a kid in a candy store. The only consolation of the tight trousers was that they were too tight to smuggle anything into. John doubted Sherlock could even get his hand into his pocket. Even so, John watched him.

Their outfits were an endless source of amusement to Lestrade and everyone else at the Yard. John was tired and the remarks mostly rolled off his back though he was pleased to see Sherlock flush at the comments. It wasn't that easy to embarrass Sherlock.

By the time that they got finished with paperwork and made their way back to 221B, it was more morning than night and John was completely spent. Sherlock beat him to the bathroom for a shower to get rid of the night's ridiculous disguise and so John resigned himself to wait on the couch for his turn. Mary was asleep in their room and he didn't want to disturb her until he was ready to climb into bed. It took him all of five minutes before he was asleep on the couch.

John didn't know how long it had been since he'd been asleep but he could sense that it hadn't been long. He woke up with the most pleasant, warm needy feeling in his lap, as if he was having a very lucid dream but when he reached out tiredly to put his hand in his lap he already felt something there.

"What a sight to wake up to" John said, his tired mind gaining wakefulness with surprising speed as he took in the sight of Mary on the floor in front of him, in between his legs, smiling wickedly at him. The sun was barley starting to come up and flood through the windows and Mary was dressed in her pyjamas, having just got up. But they were the _good_ pyjamas….the little slinky pink lacy nightgown that barely covered her up. As she leaned forward, John could see she wasn't wearing any knickers. He felt his blood rush south, growing hard which was actually very uncomfortable in those damn skinny jeans.

"You're a sight for sore eyes. I was so lonely last night I had to settle for using my own fingers" Mary teased him. She leaned up enough to pop the fingers into John's mouth and he began to suck on them, a moan issuing back in his throat. He realized instantly how glad he was that she was aroused; he felt like he was on fire and he had the impression he had been for some time.

"I see it didn't hamper your enthusiasm" John said with a shaky laugh as Mary buried her face in his lap. He could feel her mouth and hot breath through the fabric of his trousers and was relieved when Mary undid the zipper and finally released him from those horrible jeans.

"You're always very responsive after a case. Maybe it's all that adrenaline. You get off on the danger" Mary said. John couldn't exactly argue with her.

Mary's fingers wrapped around his very erect cock and began to pull so that John moaned loudly.

"Sherlock, John" Mary said in a throaty voice.

"God, don't start that" John said, his eyes closed. Instantly, his mind flooded with the image of Sherlock kissing Warner earlier that night and he didn't need Mary's dirty talk to confuse him when he so aroused he couldn't possibly stop.

"No…..you have to be quiet. Sherlock's right there" Mary said. She continued to work her hand up and down in the most delicious manner but John still jumped when he saw Sherlock sitting not a foot away from him on the couch.

He was freshly showered and dressed in his pyjamas; John was relieved to see that he was asleep. He was curled up right next to John and though that should have surprised him, it didn't really. How many times had they ended up in the bed or the couch together lately?

"Bedroom…..Sherlock might wake up" John said. His legs were shaking with need as he turned away from Sherlock to Mary who was still stroking him.

"No…..I want a challenge" Mary said, that naughty look in her eye that said she had an idea. She pulled John's jeans down and off of him before sitting on his lap. She rubbed delightfully against his cock, wet and warm already, but not pushing in yet. John felt himself tremble. "We do it right here or we don't do it at all. I want to see how quiet you can be."

"But what if Sherlock wakes up?" John gasped, his hips bucking up against Mary, his sexual frustration mounting as she still hadn't let him in.

"Then you'll just have to be quiet" Mary dared him, lowering herself onto him so he was engulfed in her warm heat. John moaned loudly again before biting his tongue. He was already committed to this happening so might as well go with it. It felt wrong, doing this so close to Sherlock; but he was asleep so he wasn't really doing anything wrong, right? Sherlock looked so innocent, curled up asleep like a cat; he was close enough to touch. It felt naughty; like having sex with your parents in the next room. John felt a rush of desire and realized that he loved it.

He was more pent up than he thought; John gripped Mary's arse so tightly as he pushed her down on him that she gasped before she caught herself. She ground up and down on John but that didn't stop him from trying to thrust up hard from where he was sitting even though that was nearly impossible without waking Sherlock up.

Mary liked it rough; he could tell that from their encounter the night she'd pretended to be…the night she had given him all that dirty talk. John was full of enough pure, carnal desire that he wanted to be rough. He grabbed Mary's shoulders hard and used it to push her down on his cock so hard that she whimpered and gasped and John couldn't believe that Sherlock didn't wake up then. John kept looking at him, checking to make sure he was still asleep; he watched Sherlock and then his wife whose face was drawn in every possible expression of pure pleasure. It spurned him on.

"John, what's gotten into you?" Mary breathed in his ear, holding onto his back to tightly he could feel her fingernails through the thin fabric of his shirt. Her voice was full of awe; she was unbelievably pleased at his attitude.

"Don't talk" John ordered. He didn't know what made him say it but it came out like how he used to order about people in the army. Absolutely no non-sense.

"Oh…..you're going to boss me around now?" Mary teased, pulling back away from his cock slightly so that he lost his pace. She was asking for it now; she was practically begging for it in her eyes. And he was going to give it to her.

"I said no fucking talking!" John barked and he wasn't even being quiet now. He clamped his hand over Mary's mouth and thrust up hard.

John might have been a captain in the army but at heart he was a submissive all the way. Mary had always dominated in their love making but she had expressed a desire for John to take more control. Now that he was, and very thoroughly, her response was hard and immediate.

His hand still over her mouth, John had only thrust up a few times before could feel her contracting against him as she came, moaning into his hand. John could feel the pressure building up, gathering for his own orgasm when Mary's gazed stopped him his tracks.

Mary's expression of awe fixed on him had suddenly been turned toward Sherlock and when John turned his head he knew he would find Sherlock had woken up. John lost his breath, letting go of his grip on Mary's mouth; embarrassment flooded through him as he saw Sherlock sitting up, wide-eyed interest written on his face as he simply stared at them. No one said anything for a full minuet. John didn't know how to get out of this with dignity; even if he left, his still hard cock with be exposed; Mary's arse was already in Sherlock's full view, having ridden up as John fucked her.

Mary was the one who finally broke the tension. She began to slowly grind up and down on him, wetter from having come; John cursed as his eyes were still drawn to Sherlock's mesmerized expression.

"Fuck me hard like that again, John" Mary whispered in his ear, still riding up and down on him. "Do it until I come again; do it until you come"

Mary was still moving and he was still giving into it; no matter his protests, he was having sex with Mary while Sherlock watched them like they were a wonderful experiment. It was dirty; John was hot with embarrassment. It was so shameful that it was actually turning John on and he didn't understand what the hell was wrong with him.

"I can't…..not while Sherlock's watching" John tried to protest but it was weak even to his ears. His grip was already on Mary's bum, pushing her against him again, his cock aching from its near release.

"Let him watch" Mary said. She reached down between them and gripped John's balls; hard. "You've got balls; use them and be a man"

In a second, John had slapped Mary's hand away from his balls and then slapped her across the face…..that was new. He felt a flood of wetness around him and knew it was appreciated. Yes, this was definitely new. John was completely humiliated and completely aroused by it and if Mary wanted him to fuck her hard she was going to get it.

John flipped Mary over so she was sitting on the couch and used his place on top to thrust harder. Mary was calling out now, loud and prouder now that Sherlock was already awake. John grabbed her firm around the neck, thrusting, and delighted in the choking sound issuing from her. When he felt her come again, throbbing around him, he moaned himself at the delicious sound. It was only when he heard the sound of another distinctly male gasp that he looked over at Sherlock.

He'd almost forgotten he was there for a moment but now that John was looking at him, he couldn't stop. As John's eyes connected with Sherlock's he could see plain embarrassment in his rosied face. Sherlock looked guiltily at his lap and gave himself away. John could his erection sticking up plainly in his pyjama bottoms, his hand clamped over it as if he could make it disappear.

His attention was so focused on Sherlock that when Mary grabbed him and pushed him down on the couch, it took him by surprise. Mary's hand clamped over his the same way he'd done her and she leaned in towards his ear. "Sherlock's getting off on us" she whispered, obviously pleased while John flushed with shame. "What do you think of that?"

It didn't matter what John thought; Mary's hand made it impossible to speak. She began to move up and down on him again but this time it was a deliciously slow pace. He was so close…so very close…..but he couldn't get over the edge. He was aware of how closely he was being watched and it was disconcerting.

"Watch him…watch him while I make you come" Mary whispered in John's ear. When he didn't comply, she slapped him across the cheek.

John looked over to Sherlock and instantly he felt a wave building inside of him. Obviously, Sherlock had found the pressure too much to bear; his hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping it furiously, his mouth open, face drawn in desire. In a matter of mere hours, John had gone from believing Sherlock didn't care for sex at all to watching him wank off mere inches from him. Embarrassed, John tried to look back at Mary who slapped him in response…..hard.

John's cheek was stinging as Mary hissed in his ear. "Watch _him_ …I know you want to"

WHY? Why did he want to? John looked at Sherlock and immediately felt a gathering of desire. Sherlock's eyes were firm on him, his breath gathering, growing more erratic; he was getting close. Mary was moving still slow against John; so slow he shouldn't possibly be able to come but as Sherlock's head was thrown back as he gasped, John could feel his orgasm building. He watched with something akin to shock on his senses as Sherlock came, semen spilling over his hand. His head pulled back up, gasping past his orgasm; he looked right at John and whispered one single word.

 _"_ _John"_

John held onto Mary tightly but his eyes were on Sherlock as he came inside Mary. It had been only one word; just his name at that. But Sherlock might as well have ordered John to come for the result that it got. It was hard and fast, like a wave that didn't want to end; John had never come like that before. John buried his face in Mary's chest and tried to think. She stroked his hair, tenderly; she wasn't mad. But John was mad at himself.

Once the sound of their post orgasm breaths died down, the silence in the flat was deafening. No one said anything; no one knew what to say. John didn't even want to look at either of them; he felt buried in his shame. His humiliation had fueled his desire before but now it made him feel dirty. He wanted to keep his face hidden forever but he knew he couldn't.

When he looked up at Sherlock, his face mirrored John's; he was mortified. It was written all over his face. He had hastily stuffed his cock back into his pyjamas but there was a telltale white smear on them. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something but he didn't. He practically ran out of the room, slamming his bedroom door behind him. John knew he'd make sure it was locked.

Suddenly, John had to be anywhere but here; Mary was still petting him but he shrugged out of the touch. He stood up, awkwardly for still wearing his shirt but no trousers; his cock was still wet and sticky though completely spent. "I'm going to take a shower" John said. Maybe he could wash away this whole thing.

Mary's face crumpled in concern. "John…..are you okay?" she asked.

How could he be okay? After that? John shook his head. "I'm fine…" he said.

"Are we going to talk about this?" Mary asked, standing up, wanting to follow him.

"Later" was all John said as he disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door just as firmly behind him.

….

Sherlock slammed his bedroom door closed, locking it for good measure. His head was exploding with thoughts and he needed to find some process to order them or he was going to implode on himself. He threw himself down on his bed. His pyjamas were wet and sticky and he felt uncomfortable but he ignored that as he tried to figure out what had happened.

He'd had no idea that was going to happen when he decided to lie down on the couch. He'd been so eager to get off the makeup and gel of the night he had showered quickly. When he had come out of the bathroom, John had already been asleep and Sherlock didn't want to wake him; John needed his sleep. Sherlock had been feeling so confused and mixed up about the night that he didn't want to leave John; he just wanted to be close to him in some way. He had curled up next to him on the couch and had gone to sleep.

He hadn't been entirely honest with John when he said he hadn't enjoyed kissing Warner; since when _was_ honest with John? He'd been repulsed by the idea of kissing a complete stranger but he knew it had to be done so he just forced himself. With his eyes closed, he had been able to imagine the lips on his were John's; when Warner had begun to play with his hair, he had imagined it was Mary's hands, just like they had been when she had kissed him. The whole thing left him feeling…..unprofessional. He couldn't get so personally invested when he was on a case but that's what he had done; it was dangerous. Being emotional made for mistakes and mistakes meant danger.

Sherlock had tried to shrug it off but when he had come back to John at the bar, he had drunk much more than Sherlock would have allowed. He was on his way to intoxicated and he was _jealous…_ Sherlock was never wrong and he wasn't wrong about this. John had been bothered by watching Sherlock kiss Warner though maybe even he didn't understand that's what he had felt. Sherlock told him how unpleasant it was to keep him from getting the wrong idea and he'd seen him practically light up.

Sherlock didn't know what it meant. He dared to hope that it meant that John might be starting to accept that he cared for Sherlock too. When he had woken up to find Mary and John having sex mere inches from him, he'd lost it. There was so much to take in Sherlock had been overwhelmed but in the best way possible.

Sherlock had thought about Mary and John having sex; it wasn't hard to do when they were in the same house as him. He actually knew quite a many things about their habits, so much that it would likely embarrass them if he told them. But even so, it was surprising to him to see them doing it right in front of him. Especially seeing John that way…he was a sub and Sherlock was familiar with that. Seeing him being so rough with Mary; hitting her, barking at her, fucking her harder than he imagined anyone could take…Sherlock was hard almost immediately. Though he took the reins when he and John were on a case, he couldn't deny he loved an in control John.

He'd been so lost in it; the two people he loved and they were beautiful and perfect together. When he noticed Mary looking at him, he'd be completely humiliated. He felt dirty, having caught them in so intimate a moment; he could tell instantly though from Mary's increase in arousal that she wanted them to be caught. She wanted him to watch.

John tried to protest but it was obvious that he wanted to let it happen; he was far too aroused to let it not happen. Mary pushed him, abused him even and he loved it; she made John look at him. He'd felt embarrassed that John could not only see his erection but he had to know it was there because they were arousing him. He couldn't help it; he had to wank or he'd never make it. A sensible thing to do would have been to go to his room and wank but he wasn't sensible. John was watching him and Sherlock knew he saw dark desire in his eyes. The idea that John might possibly be as turned on by it as he was made it impossible to hold back. For once, just bloody once, he wanted to come and not be alone; he wanted to have connection even if it wasn't real. He'd felt almost dizzy as his orgasm washed over him; John came only seconds later and that was enough to shake Sherlock's view on him.

John was embarrassed the second that it happened; Sherlock could see that. He had enjoyed it but he hadn't expected to or even wanted to….so it meant nothing. It hadn't mattered if John had enjoyed it if he didn't want to. Sherlock hadn't known what to do or say so he'd left like a coward. It was the hottest thing he'd ever been a part of and he still wasn't a part of it.

Feeling a wave of shame, Sherlock threw off his soiled clothes, wiping himself off with them before throwing them in the floor. He curled up in a ball on his bed, naked and feeling miserable.

It was several minutes later when there was a knock his door; Sherlock ignored it. He couldn't imagine opening it and seeing John; having him tell him that he'd crossed the line, that he was pervert…any number of horrible things.

Sherlock heard the knock again, followed by "Sherlock? Can I please come in?" it was Mary but he still didn't answer her.

"John's not out here; it's just me" Mary said eventually. She knew him so well…..

"Give me a minuet" Sherlock said. He picked himself up and threw on some clean pyjamas. He wasn't entirely looking forward to talking to Mary about this but it was MARY; Mary, the woman who understood him and always made him feel better. Mary, his friend.

Sherlock threw on his clean clothes and unlocked his door before flopping down on the bed. "Come in" he called weakly.

Mary came in, looking at him with sympathy. She had thrown on a dressing gown over her tiny nightie and she just looked so warm and comforting Sherlock wanted nothing more than to melt into her arms and go to sleep; forget any of this had happened and just sleep with Mary holding him.

"That was all a bit intense, wasn't it?" Mary asked, sitting down on the bed next to him. She looked embarrassed but it was different than John; she had enjoyed it but she felt bad for him and John.

Sherlock didn't answer; he didn't know what to say.

"Come on Sherlock" Mary said, opening her arms to him. He wanted to resist the touch, the comfort but it was too irresistible. Sherlock fell into Mary's hug; it felt so good to have someone touch him.

"That was my idea; I made John do that. I'm sorry" Mary said, her hand on the back of Sherlock's head, holding him against her shoulder.

"It's okay…..well, it's not but I liked it…at the time" Sherlock said. The same woman who had pushed John into oblivion minutes ago was being so gentle and kind to him that it made Sherlock's chest hurt.

"What did John say?" Sherlock asked as he eventually pulled back from Mary. He didn't want to know but really he did. He knew he had to ask even if he didn't like the answer.

"He didn't say anything. He went to shower and said we'd talk later" Mary said. She put her hand on Sherlock's cheek, stroking it gently. "I'm sorry, sweetheart"

Sweetheart…..no one had ever called him that. He felt warm at it; he must like it. "It's okay…it was stupid. I should have left" Sherlock said.

"No, if it's anyone's fault, its mine" Mary said. "I told him to do it, practically made him. But you know what, Sherlock?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, feeling hopeful because Mary had smiled a bit. When had he become the kind of man that based his emotions on those of others?

"John liked it" Mary said, "He was really into that. That's why he was scared. You made him come, not me."

Sherlock blushed furiously. "Yeah…..we'll see about that" he said, unconvinced.

Mary surprised him by leaning in and kissing him on the lips. It was sweet and innocent, barely a touch but he hadn't expected it; after their last kiss, they'd been keeping away from it entirely. Maybe he was pathetic enough to need it and she saw it. "Yeah, we will" Mary said, her voice confident as she ran her thumb along Sherlock's lips.

….

John stayed in the shower for as long as the hot water would allow, scrubbing, but he still didn't feel right. He leaned his head against the cold shower wall, standing there letting the water wash over him long after it had grown cold. He needed to think but he didn't necessarily want to; he certainly had to figure out something to say.

This was getting out of hand; he had half a mind to tell Mary they were moving out of here and going back to their own life. Their life, away from Sherlock, away from the strange thing that seemed to be growing between them. But there was one problem with that…he didn't want to, not really. He could see that they were all crossing some very important boundaries but John almost felt it was impossible to stop at this point. Sleeping in the same bed was one thing but what had happened on the couch just now was quite another. They all knew it meant something and John was terrified for anyone to say it.

John wanted to pretend that it didn't matter but it did. Maybe it started out innocent enough. John didn't think Mary had intended for it to go the way it did. She had thought it would be hot to try and have sex right next to Sherlock without waking him up and she was right; it was. It was only when he'd woken up that problems began. They'd been too loud; John had gotten carried away and he should have been paying attention. Even so, he should have left or told Sherlock to leave. Mary had told him to keep going, to just let Sherlock watch; he'd just gone along with it. Was it because she'd been so take charge and demanding? Probably. Was it because suddenly he was really turned on by being watched? Probably, which was a new revelation to him. Was it because it was Sherlock? Definitely…

Things were all mixed up. John knew that being so close to Sherlock was starting to make lines blur again. He had had this problem before…before Mary…before Sherlock left. Being so close and sharing such an extreme job with someone was bound to leave a deep connection that other people didn't have. He could put distance between them but he couldn't bear the thought of it. How could he go back to seeing Sherlock only occasionally? How could he go back to not working with him? He couldn't….

But how was he going to leave and face Mary and Sherlock? Mary might not be so difficult; she still seemed pleased by the whole thing. But Sherlock….what could you possibly say to your flat mate after you'd both gotten off to the sight of the other getting off? Because that was essentially what had happened even if John didn't want to admit it.

John eventually got out of the shower, drying off and feeling nothing. He was empty, tired; he needed sleep. Maybe after sleep things would be clearer to him.

He'd neglected to get any clothes so John was left using one of Sherlock's dressing gowns he left hanging on the back of the door. When he went to his bedroom, Mary was already lying on their bed, waiting for him. John flopped into bed, threw the covers over him and turned his back to Mary. He wasn't mad at her but if she wanted to say something about this whole ordeal then she could do it, not him.

Mary scooted up behind him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. John closed his eyes and relaxed; he could happily go to sleep like this. A moment later he was almost sleep when Mary spoke.

"Are you okay, John?" she asked. Her voice was tentative, worried; she hardly ever sounded like that. She knew how upset he was about this.

"Not really" John admitted, tight lipped.

Mary paused. "I'm sorry" she said. She was taking responsibility for the whole thing but it wasn't really her fault. She knew that but she was willing to say it to give him peace of mind.

"It's not your fault" John said. "I went along with it. I let it happen…..I wanted it."

It was hard to admit that, even the smallest bit of it. John was actually glad when Mary didn't say anything about it or fish for details. John could feel Mary's breath against his neck, her leg wrapped around his, hand rubbing against his chest; eventually he relaxed and was again almost asleep.

He heard the bedroom door open and his eyes tiredly opened, knowing what he would see. Sherlock stood tentatively several feet from John and Mary's bed, worriedly twisting at the hem of his t-shirt. He looked as miserable as John felt.

"What do you want?" John asked even though he knew what Sherlock wanted.

Sherlock hesitated. "I…can I sleep here? Please?"

It was unprecedented. None of them had even acknowledged that they had started to make a habit of sleeping together, much less ask for it. Sherlock even said please; it was nearly impossible to say no to Sherlock actually being nice. And John really didn't want to say no anyway. After everything that happened, why not nap together? They obviously had no boundaries anymore.

"As long as you say nothing about what just happened, you can stay" John said.

Sherlock looked pleased for a second before he covered up his smile and climbed into the bed next to John. He faced John, closing his eyes and instantly relaxing. John could see him curl up and try to make his large form smaller, trying not to touch John as if he was afraid he might push him out if he did. Closing his eyes and pretending to be mostly asleep, John gently moved his hand so that it rested atop Sherlock's.


	16. Chapter 16

John had worried that after what had happened that things would become awkward between him and Sherlock. He had told Sherlock to say nothing when he wanted to climb into their bed but John was sure that once he was rested and alert, he'd want to say something. John cringed when he imagined what Sherlock could 'deduce' from the incident but just like a good many things, after it happened no one spoke about. John was relieved.

Life went on mostly as it had before for the next few weeks though there were notable changes that life with Sherlock was quickly becoming his and Mary's realities. Most of their things had made it to Sherlock's flat now and they had already decided that when their lease was up they were going to give up their own flat. John had expected that to be a longer conversation but it wasn't; they were just both in agreement with it. There were no delusions at this point that Sherlock needed them to take care of him; like everything else, Sherlock had swept them along into the crazy path of his whirlwind life and they had gladly become a part of it.

John was also now only working part time at the surgery and he knew before long he would likely give it up completely. Sherlock was getting regular cases now and it was too difficult to maintain a regular job and run around with Sherlock catching criminals. Sherlock was getting paid fairly well for his services because Mary saw to it that he paid attention to such things, so it was financially feasible that John could work less at the surgery. All of their finances were quickly becoming one anyway.

All in all, John felt that things were as normal as normal could be when living with Sherlock. Sherlock seemed generally more concerned and protective of John when they were on a case but after the stabbing event he'd not lost it again like that. Their current case had been fraught with enough danger; trying to catch a murder who liked to cut up his victims while they were still alive as his method of kill couldn't be anything but dangerous. Sherlock had had his own close call when one of the man's cronies decided to shoot at him; John had nearly had a heart attack them. The man had evaded them twice and though they had managed to escape danger each time, things came to a head the third time they ran into the man.

They had chased him through several blocks and up the stairs of a huge building when he was cornered. Why did criminals always go up? There was nowhere to go from there…..but at this point John realized the man was taunting Sherlock. He'd managed to escape him twice and he thought himself clever enough to escape again.

The man was crazy but Sherlock was feeding into it. Standing on top of the building, the killer's eyes gleamed with excitement, brandishing a huge knife, obviously the one he used to cut up his victims. "I'll take great delight in slicing you up, Mr. Holmes" he said, giving an evil laugh.

Sherlock climbed up onto the ledge of the building, pacing care freely on with his own, clever smile. Seeing Sherlock so close to the edge of the building gave John heart palpitations. It was familiar, way too familiar. John wanted to tell him to get down; knowing Sherlock he'd be overly cocky and fall. But he'd been with Sherlock enough to know that you couldn't interfere with his methods. John chose to stand back and trust him like he always had.

If the scene reminded Sherlock of his jump, he didn't show it. He was cool and calm, his face gently amused as he regarded the deranged killer in front of him. "I'm sure you would get some repulsive pleasure out of it" Sherlock mused, shrugging his shoulders. "But I'm afraid I will have to deny you that pleasure."

"Ah….you think so?" the man asked, smiling as if he was enjoying Sherlock's toying with him. "You know, I will get my way; I always do."

Sherlock looked past the killer to John for the smallest practice of second. He gave John so slight a wink that John wasn't sure he really saw it before Sherlock looked back at the killer. "You have to catch me first" he said.

Time moved in slow motion. Sherlock put his arms out to his sides, his coat billowing in the wind before he fell backwards. John felt like he watched Sherlock fall for minuets, hours, days…..off the building and into the wind. How many times had he dreamed this? How many times had he woken in the middle of the night, shaking, crying because Sherlock had jumped off that building and made John watch? How many times had he drank himself into an oblivion because Sherlock stayed dead when John asked him to stop being dead.

John knew, deep down, that something had to be up. But in the moment, the shock of seeing something that had happened so often in his mind took him over. The killer took off, pushing past John but he was powerless to notice him or try to stop him as he tore back down the stairs they had come up from.

John's legs shook, unable to hold him as he fell to his knees hard on the pavement. His knees connected with the hard surface, his hands in puddles as they tried to support him and keep him from falling face first. His breath was wheezing in and out, stabbing his chest with each painful bit of air. Despite the cold air, John felt sweat begin to cover his body. He could feel the panic coming, like a black storm and John felt powerless to fight. John closed his eyes; he had to fight it….he had to…

John had been fearless at one time but Sherlock had ruined that. When John had been in the army he'd managed dangerous situations with a cool head; he still usually did. It was one of the first things that both Mycroft and Sherlock had deduced about him; he enjoyed danger, enjoyed risks. His problems after Afghanistan had been as Mycroft had rightly said; he didn't fear the war, he missed it. He needed a certain amount of danger and risk to really feel alive.

John had never had a panic attack until Sherlock had faked his death; after that, they would happen quite frequently. He leaned to despise the feeling of panic, the pain if not being able to breathe, the sense that doom was coming; he could see it coming but not until it was too late. In the beginning so many things that reminded him about Sherlock would set it off. It was worse if it reminded him of the fall. Even seeing someone on television jump off something high could set him off. Those first few months were the worse; everything reminded of his loss. He was a bundle of anxiety and depression that was only marginally helped by heavy alcohol use. He was not proud to admit even to himself (he'd never admit it to Sherlock) that he had even experimented with drugs when alcohol no longer helped. In his saddest moments, just using cocaine made him feel closer to Sherlock; it was his drug of choice. He was relived he had been saved from becoming a full drug addict; he was on that path when he met Mary who had helped him in so many ways. After that experience he never shamed Sherlock for falling victim to drugs; anyone could succumb to them, he'd found.

John closed his eyes and focused on breathing deep despite the pain in his chest. If he let himself become overtaken by his anxiety it could go on a long time and John knew he needed to move. After a few minutes, his breathing evened and John could stand on shaky feet.

John walked toward the edge of the building where Sherlock had disappeared; it was only a few feet but to John it felt like a mile. Everything still seemed so overwhelming and surreal as he placed his hands on the edge; he was hyperaware of the gentle mist in the air, the sound of police cars below that must have meant Lestrade was here.

When John looked over the side of the building he could see several police cars on the street. Standing next to one of the cars, distant but visible, was Lestrade talking to a completely unscathed Sherlock.

For a minute, all John felt was complete and utter relief that Sherlock was okay. He knew it was stupid of him, really, to think Sherlock might have jumped and actually hurt himself. He'd obviously jumped before and made it; how he did, he still never explained to John. But it was so _real….._ for a few horrible minutes, John had really felt like it was two years ago, watching his best friend fall to his death and believing that he hadn't been able to stop it.

It didn't take long for the relief to fizzle out and be replaced by a wave of anger and rage at Sherlock. How could he do that? He surely had to know that John didn't know what he was doing; didn't he even consider how that might make John feel? Of course he didn't; this was Sherlock Holmes. The machine, the man made of cold logic and no heart. Of course he didn't consider John's feelings; that would mean he'd have to think about someone besides himself for five seconds. Sherlock had shown no remorse for what he'd put John through when he disappeared; why should he start now?

John was so filled with rage by the time that he got to the street that he could feel himself shaking. He could see Sherlock still in conversation with Lestrade; so normal it made John want to strangle him. He couldn't take this anymore; fuck this case and Sherlock and everything else. John was going home.

John turned away from the police and began to walk down the street when he heard Sherlock calling his name behind him. "John….John!"

John kept walking; every time Sherlock said his name, it made his anger increase. Sherlock would have no idea that he had done anything wrong; he'd had no clue for two years and now wasn't when he was likely to start.

John was determined to ignore Sherlock when he suddenly felt a hand on his arm, turning him around. "John, don't you hear me?" Sherlock asked, turning him around.

John lashed out. "Get the fuck off me!" he said, pushing Sherlock back with both hands. Sherlock gave him a bewildered expression and Greg, standing several feet away seemed to think it was a joke. "Whoa….John. Trouble in paradise?" Lestrade said with a grin.

John flushed with anger as he looked at Sherlock; Sherlock who was so brilliant but so incredibly stupid when it came to so much. Sherlock had been his paradise for so long; he'd been his safe place and that had all stopped when he had jumped off that building two years ago.

"Relax, John. I was just trying to get your attention" Sherlock said, oblivious. "We have to go to station to make a statement, you know"

Sherlock looked at him like he'd taken leave of his senses when really John was starting to think for the first time in years and it made him shake with adrenaline. "Don't fucking talk to me right now" John said, taking off again.

Again, Sherlock grabbed his arm. John whipped around and pushed him harder. This time, Sherlock actually fell down on the ground and it gave John a sick rush of satisfaction. Greg was still watching them but suppressing his laughter as if he had realized John was actually angry. "You touch me again, I'm kicking the piss out of you" John said before taking off down the street.

John wanted to hit Sherlock; he wanted to hit him and kick him and beat him until he was bleeding and maybe feeling some measure of pain he'd put John through. That was the only reason he walked away; he wanted to hurt Sherlock too much. He wanted to hurt Sherlock but he was pathetic and eventually he would be upset he'd caused Sherlock pain. Sherlock was like a drug; he hurt him and he was bad for him but the rush he gave him kept him coming back. John had developed quite a taste for Sherlock's torture and he couldn't give it up.

It was quiet when he arrived at 221B and John was glad. He collapsed in his chair, head in his hands, trying to calm himself. He was covered in sweat and still shaking from rage and he forced himself to breathe deeply again, this time to stave off his desire to do damage and not to keep away anxiety. Anxiety would almost be welcome at this point; John felt there was a fire burning inside him, consuming him. All the anger and resent he'd felt at Sherlock since the fall was rushing to the forefront of his mind when he'd tried to bury it.

John heard footsteps coming up the steps; wanted it to be Mary but even he wasn't so stupid that he couldn't deduce the sound of those steps.

"John?"

Sherlock's voice was cautious, even slightly worried. John didn't answer; he dared Sherlock to try and touch him. He'd make good on his threat.

Sherlock didn't try to touch him; pity. "John….what's wrong?" Sherlock asked. He was closer to John now. When John opened his eyes Sherlock was standing only a foot away from him, looking at him concern.

"What's wrong? You have your head so far stuck up your ass I'm surprised you noticed anything was wrong" John spat, standing up to face Sherlock. He looked at Sherlock with as hard a look as he could manage. It was times like this that he despised that he was so much shorter than Sherlock. He wanted to look Sherlock in the eye when he slapped him.

Sherlock looked uncomfortable and clueless. "Well, Lestrade seemed to think I should come talk to you, though I admit that I don't know why" he said. He looked at John for answers.

"You're pathetic….you can't even tell I'm angry!" John said, his voice rising with every word.

"I did actually work that bit out" Sherlock said, "But I don't know why you're angry."

"Of course you don't" John said, narrowing his eyes. "Of course you don't bloody know!"

"What's that supposed to mean, John? You're not making any sense" Sherlock said, waving his hands around, getting frustrated at John's vagueness.

"You're a machine!" John shouted. "You're cold and heartless. I don't think you've ever cared about another human being in your life. You'd have to stop and notice someone for two seconds and you can't do that!"

That one actually looked like it stung; Sherlock's mouth hung open a little and he paled. Good, John thought…finally something hurt. "Why would you say that?" Sherlock asked, obviously hurt. "You don't mean that"

"I do…I do mean it. I really do" John said, smiling an angry smile, glad it had hurt. "You didn't think for one second how you jumping off that building would affect me. But then again I shouldn't expect you to…you don't think of how anything affects me. You're a robot, a casing with nothing inside."

Sherlock's lips turned into a thin line as he pursed them and tried to think of saying something. "You're being overly emotional" Sherlock said even though it was obvious that he was feeling emotional as well. "This is not the first time that I have had a plan that you didn't know about. You've never gotten so worked up over it"

"You jumped from a fucking building!" John said, his voice shrill and completely angry now. "How was I supposed to feel!?"

Sherlock frowned, obviously still several steps behind. "John…surely you didn't expect me to actually jump off?" he asked as if John were a slow child. "I saw the building had a balcony on the second level from the top; when we ended up on the roof, I knew I could jump off and onto it and the killer would run back into the street where, by that time, Lestrade would be waiting. The timing was perfect; it was all very simple. Surely you noticed the balcony"

Sherlock was so calm, so rational…why couldn't he just understand? Why couldn't Sherlock just understand how John felt? Why couldn't he feel one fraction of the loss and want and need that John did? For a second, John was horrified that he might cry. Sherlock didn't deserve it; how many times he had cried for Sherlock? Way too many. How many times had Sherlock cried for him? None. John didn't know if Sherlock had ever felt a genuine emotion when it came to John.

"John, there really is no reason to cry" Sherlock said, looking uncomfortable as John's eyes filled with tears.

John couldn't help it; he didn't know how he could be so angry and so upset at the same time but he was. He felt everything and Sherlock felt nothing. John hated himself at the moment for crying but he hated Sherlock more.

"I don't know why I expected you to understand" John said, biting the inside of his cheek to try and keep the tears inside his eyes. "Of course you think there's no reason to get upset. You jumped off that building two years ago and you came back into my life…ripped it apart again and had no idea what you did."

Sherlock huffed, looking angry. "This again, John?" he asked, obviously mad. "You're bringing this up again? John, how many times do I have to tell you that I had to do that?"

"Yeah you had to do it and you couldn't possibly tell me about it?" John said bitterly.

Sherlock was growing angrier by the second. "You are still upset about that, John? Why? I did it to keep you safe!"

"Oh yeah, to keep me safe" John said sarcastically. "I know you jumped off that building to keep me safe but you could have shown me a sign…..something…..anything…to tell me you were alive."

"No, I couldn't" Sherlock said, leaning in so John could see the anger fully flare in his eyes. "You are emotional and rash. If I told you I was alive I couldn't trust you to keep it secret. You had to think I was dead to keep you and me both safe until I dismantled Moriarty's web. You could have gotten us both killed if you revealed that I was alive."

"Ah, yes, because I'm so incompetent I can't be trusted with anything, right?" John asked bitterly.

"Oh come off it, John!" Sherlock was shouting now. "Can't you see the big picture here? Can't you see past all your self conscious shit and see that I couldn't let mine or your emotions get in the way of something so much bigger? I was put on top of that building, I was set up; if I didn't jump you would have died. I saved your life and you still don't see it? You really don't see?"

Finally, John could see that Sherlock was starting to feel something real. He was turning red, his language getting less articulate; it made John feel satisfied. "No, I'm apparently too stupid to see anything" John said sarcastically. He still had tears in his eyes but he was laughing in a bit of hysteria. "You have to keep poor John in the dark because he's slow and he might fuck everything up!"

"Oh my GOD, John!" Sherlock yelled, running his hands through his long hair, a sure sign of frustration. "I call you stupid on nearly a daily basis but you are not actually dumb! You are a solider and a doctor! Surely you are bright enough to figure it out!"

John rarely saw Sherlock like this. His face was red with anger, his eyes wild; he looked like he might explode. Sherlock so rarely felt such extreme of emotions that when he did it made him a bit mad. John was so flooded with anger and sorrow and regret and so many other things he couldn't place that all he wanted was for it to get worse. Oh, yes…he wanted to see it get worse.

"Apparently not…why don't you explain it to me?" John asked in a daring voice, eyes narrowed at Sherlock.

John could see the moment that Sherlock snapped. It was in the eyes; like a bright light that had gone out and turned to a dark stain inside Sherlock's mind. "Damn it, John!" Sherlock yelled. "I did it because I love you!"

The yelling stopped and the quiet was like an echo in John's ears. Sherlock's face fell immediately as John's mind struggled to accept what he had thought he had just heard. Sherlock's eyes were as big as John had ever seen, his face pale and scared.

"Wait…..what?" John asked, completely confused. Sherlock must have said something else. He surely didn't say what John thought he said.

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to answer him but he didn't. A second later, lips were on John's.

 _Oh my god…_ the second that Sherlock's lips touched John's, it was like something warm filled up inside him. It was like something had been missing his entire life and he'd only now found it. There were arms around, holding him, cradling him as Sherlock leaned down and kissed him; that was so different and yet so perfect. He'd thought Sherlock was so tall that kissing him would feel strange because he'd have to look up at him; god, he had thought it before but not like this. Arms bigger than his encircled him, almost as protecting him, making him feel warm and safe.

Sherlock's lips were softer than John would have imagined. Soft skin moving along his lips, a smooth tongue running along his lips; John opened his lips a fraction and that tongue was pushing its way into his mouth, stifling a moan. For a moment, John did nothing; he just let that tongue move along his, tasting him and touching him in places that had rarely, even by Mary, been touched. That tongue, that brilliant tongue, that tongue that could spout off a genius monologue that left everyone around him feeling inadequately stupid was moving in his mouth, making him feel more known, more intimate than if he was being fucked.

John felt dizzy, heady….he gripped Sherlock's back for support and felt rather than heard a moan in his mouth. It trilled and vibrated around his mouth, making him feel like it was a part of him. John was hot and cold, his body in shock as Sherlock kissed him. Sherlock's tongue stroked his mouth gently, barely touching him, and then there were teeth nipping at his lips. John felt spurned on; his tongue pressed into Sherlock's wrapping around his tongue, moving in and out but never letting go of Sherlock's tongue. Oh, he'd managed to wrestle that infuriating tongue.

John's hands went from Sherlock's back to his hair. _Oh my god…the hair_. It felt as good in his hands as it looked on his head. Gorgeous…yes definitely, gorgeous and smooth and soft. John's fingers knitted into it, stroking, gripping, pulling…Sherlock moaned so deep John felt it in his chest. No wonder Sherlock kept his hair so long; he was enjoying himself so much he started to shake in John's arms the more he played with it.

Sherlock fell back into his chair and John was on top of him. His hands were everywhere in Sherlock's hair, warm chest pressed against his, harder and more toned that John would have imagined. Sherlock's lips went to his neck and it was John's chance to start trembling. He could feel hot breath, delicate nips and rough bites to his neck. John was a shaking trembling mess, feeling but not thinking.

John was undeniably hard and it was what finally snapped him out of. He wasn't just a little aroused; he was completely hard all because of Sherlock's ministrations. What the hell was he doing? There had been a time he would have done this, done Sherlock, in a heartbeat in he'd asked. But he was married….he shuddered to think what Mary would think if she could see him right now. He was married, and straight…he was going to be a father. What the hell was he doing?

John jumped off of Sherlock liked he'd been shocked. Backing up several feet, John saw Sherlock's horrified face immediately. He lay back on the chair, looking up at John, his hair wonderfully tousled and his cheeks pink.

"What…what the hell Sherlock?" John burst out. Looking back, he could see that it wasn't the best thing that he could have said but it was the only thing that came out. He was shaky with need but his overwhelming confusion was winning out at the moment.

Sherlock stood up, trying to catch his breath. "Okay…I…..uh….listen, John" Sherlock started, completely inarticulate. Normally, John would have delighted to make Sherlock lost for words but right now he wanted Sherlock to know what the hell was going on in that genius head of his so he could explain it John. Because John wasn't sure he had ever been less sure of Sherlock's actions in all the time he' known him.

Sherlock tried to take a step toward John but he held up his hands. "No…..stop right there. Stay away" John said. He had to create some distance between them if he was going to be able to think. Something in his body was urging him to reach out to Sherlock and wipe that terrified look off his face but that wasn't going to help anything. John didn't trust himself so he kept Sherlock away.

Sherlock looked hurt at John's pulling away but he respected John's wishes. "I'm sorry" Sherlock said quickly. Guilt was written on his face; he had to know that John had enjoyed the kiss but he could tell John was upset as well. Knowing Sherlock, that made him extremely confused.

"What was that?" John exclaimed. "Why, Sherlock? After all this time…..why now?"

Sherlock couldn't have had worst timing. Did he really love John? It was hard to believe but John thought he was actually sincere. How long had felt that way? Why hadn't he ever done anything about it before? Why had he waited until John couldn't possibly do anything about it? John hated his bad luck and he hated Sherlock for putting him in that position. He felt a fresh wave of guilt; what a terrible thing to even think. Here he was wishing Sherlock had made his feelings known before he had married Mary so he could act on them, as if he didn't care about her. But he did; he loved her so much and he couldn't believe he was even entertaining these thoughts. He loved Mary with all of his heart but…didn't he love Sherlock too? He'd never been so confused.

Sherlock looked uncomfortable. "I didn't intend for it to come out that" he said, looking at his feet. "I never said anything before because I felt sure that my feelings would not be returned."

John felt hot and dizzy; he put a hand to his head and tried to think. The idea that this was really happening was overwhelming. "How long have you felt this way? Did you feel this way before you left?" John asked. He tried to say, 'How long have you loved me?' but it was so strange a sentence that it didn't make its way out of his lips.

Sherlock paused, nibbling on his lip in an uncharacteristic nervous fashion. "I can't place the date, John….it's been awhile" he said tight lipped. John didn't buy it for a second. He was avoiding saying it.

"Sherlock, you remember every small detail of everything so I don't believe for moment you don't recall when these feelings started." John prodded him. He knew Sherlock, even Sherlock of all people, would remember when he'd fallen in love. That surely wasn't the kind of thing even he forgot.

Sherlock looked stubbornly away before he finally met John's eyes. The affection in them was so sincere, so raw; how had John never seen it. _"I can see the way he looks at you. Everyone thinks it's just you that worships him but he adores you._ "Mary had said that and John had taken it just as part of her dirty talk but now John could see it for the very first time; it was true. Had everyone else been able to see it but him? Was that why everyone was always insisting they were a couple? Had John been that blind?

"Yes….when I jumped off that building it was to save you. I already knew how I felt. I had for a long time" Sherlock said honestly. "I didn't see it coming because I've never felt that way about anyone; I suspect it all started rather shortly after us meeting but I didn't see it for what it was for a long time."

John felt like he was being turned inside out. Never in his wildest dreams could he have expected to hear this from Sherlock. In his wildest imaginings he could see him and Sherlock having sex; for a case or because they were blind drunk or something. But love…..actual love that had gone on for YEARS? John never saw that coming. Feeling dizzy, John sank into his chair, head in his hands. "Oh my GOD, Sherlock….why? WHY did you never say anything in years?" John moaned. He looked up to see Sherlock pale; maybe he was just realizing what John had already known. They could have had something, maybe, at one time.

"You said you were straight!" Sherlock said, gesturing wildly, "You always got so upset when people thought we were a couple! Not to mention the women, John…all the women! What was I supposed to think?"

"I am straight!" John insisted, even though as soon as it left his mouth he realized that he'd never acted less straight in his life than today. He took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. "I always said that because I don't like men; I never did. But you….."

John's eyes met Sherlock's and again he had to tell himself not to reach out to him. Sherlock wasn't just a man; he was just Sherlock and that was all that mattered.

"I look at you Sherlock and it doesn't matter…it wouldn't have mattered" John said. He felt a lump growing in this throat, a life that was his coming to his head, unable to push away. "If only you had said, I would have gone anywhere with you."

Sherlock knew what John was saying and his lips were tight and his eyes glassy with emotion. He looked like he wanted to say something but John reached in quick to say what he had to do, what had to be done because there wasn't any choice.

"But it doesn't matter now" John said, "It doesn't matter now what we would have done because we can't. I'm married now, Sherlock. God…I can only imagine what Mary will say when I tell her what I did."

"Well, I expect she'll probably be pleased" Sherlock said. When John's head whipped up to look at him, he couldn't believe that sorrowful expression was dashed away and replaced with genuine happiness.

"Is that a joke?" John asked in a hard voice, "Because it damn sure isn't funny" There was no way that Mary would be happy and John didn't know what Sherlock was trying to get at.

"No, I'm serious" Sherlock said, still smiling like an idiot "She was hoping we'd all come to an agreement."

John felt a sick, foreboding feeling rising in his stomach. Something wasn't right about this and he could sense he wasn't going to like the answer to his question. "What are you talking about? What kind of agreement?" he asked.

"Well, it was her idea at least" Sherlock said, oblivious again to John's growing anger. "After I told her how I felt about you and we kissed she thought it'd be the best idea"

What was left of John's mind short-circuited, blown apart with even more anger. "WHAT? You and Mary kissed?" he said, pushing himself up and staring hard at Sherlock.

There was not part of John's logical thoughts that wanted to accept that what Sherlock was saying was true. It was hard enough to accept what Sherlock was saying about his feelings for John; it would be nearly impossible to believe what he was saying about Mary. Yet, the look on Sherlock's face said it all; his pleased expression dropped as it he had only then realized what he had said. He tried to smile, recovering quickly. "Oh, John that was weeks ago, don't worry about it" Sherlock said, off handily as if it were the most normal bit of information.

"That's supposed to make me feel better?!" John burst out. "I'm supposed to feel alright with you and Mary kissing and no one telling me because it was weeks ago? Call me insane but that doesn't make me feel better at all."

Sherlock huffed as if he had any right to be getting frustrated and it made John angrier. "Well, I was sure that Mary would tell you, being her husband and all" he said, "But she said that it would be alright to not tell you as long as we didn't let it happen again."

"Oh, yes of course it's all fine as long as it didn't happen again!" John yelled. His mind was spiraling out of control, completely overtaken by information that he now had that he hadn't wanted to have.

"John, I understand that you're upset but just…calm down a bit" Sherlock said, looking a bit worried as he surveyed John. Good…..John could really hurt him if he wanted to and right now he really wanted to.

"Sherlock if you tell me to calm down at a time like this I'm going to kick your ass" John said with barely controlled rage.

Sherlock, obviously worried now, didn't say anything. A moment later, his eyes widened, falling behind John. When John turned around he saw Mary walk into the room. She looked so normal, so unaffected; her day wasn't careening out of control. She looked as kind and gentle as she ever had and yet somehow that was worse because John knew she apparently wasn't what she appeared.

Mary looked between John and Sherlock, sensing the tension of the room. "You two kissed!" she said, a smile on her lips. Of course she just had to know everything, just like Sherlock; hell, they were probably made for each other. John felt his sick feeling increase; Sherlock had to be right because Mary was obviously pleased about it.

"Yeah…you know who else kissed?" John asked, trying to smile but it came out full of rage, ready to wipe that smile off her face. "You and Sherlock!"

"Shit…." Mary muttered under her breath. At least she had the dignity to look embarrassed about it.

"John, listen" Mary said, after she had recovered a bit. "Just sit down and we will talk about this."

"No" John said, already backing up toward the door. "You two….I don't know. You two have a nice chat…..snog….whatever. I can't look at either of you right now"


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock felt Mary's eyes on him, staring at him; he knew she was waiting for him to say something. All he could think about was that of all the mistakes that he could have made, he'd somehow made them all despite his determination not to do it.

Sherlock sunk down into his armchair, trying not to recall how he and John had been intertwined in it only minutes ago and how John had now stormed out. Mary walked slowly toward John's chair, sitting down in it and surveying him carefully. She had to know, had to know that somewhere along the line he had messed up, but she didn't say that. Just because she was Mary…

"So…..why don't you tell me what happened?" Mary asked, giving Sherlock an understanding smile. She wasn't judging him; she never did. If only John had her patience…..

"John's such an over-reactor!" Sherlock said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "If John had just been calm I could have explained everything rationally."

"John does tend to get emotional quick" Mary said reasonably. "Tell me what happened with you two"

"He completely lost it in the middle of a case!" Sherlock said, the words spring forth from him now that he had someone that would actually listen to him. "Just because I jumped off of a building he had to go getting sentimental over it like it was the last time even though it was obvious that there was a ledge under the building and I wasn't going to actually jump! Anyone with eyes could see that but that's John's problem is that he doesn't look! He stormed away and we had a terrible argument about it. Why doesn't he just let that go! I was trying to explain it to him; how I did all that for him and he shouldn't be mad at me for saving his life!"

"I know that you did all of that for John; deep down he knows it too" Mary explained carefully. "There was nothing that you could have done to prevent it. You did it all to protect him and John will see that. But….."

"But what?" Sherlock said, unkinder than he meant to. Surely Mary wasn't going to argue as well.

"But" Mary said, giving Sherlock a cautious look. "Sherlock, you really have no idea what that did to him. I'm sure that you are familiar with physiological triggers; imagine how many times he dreamed of you jumping off that building and you doing that today brought it all back. There he was, no doubt thinking about all of the months he agonized over it"

"Agonized? Really Mary, such a strong word" Sherlock said.

"But it's true" Mary said so seriously Sherlock believed her. "I have told you very little about it to save John from embarrassment but he was an absolute mess. When I first met him, he kept it as close to himself as he possibly could but still…he talked about you constantly, both the good and the bad; how he blamed himself for you death. That he should have seen it coming…that he should have helped you. You don't know the guilt he suffered over it. He went to your grave every day because it was the only way he could feel you were still there. Your jumping off that building haunted him; he had nightmares all the time about it. He'd wake up screaming or crying, the pain just as fresh as the first time it happened.

"When you came back, Sherlock, he acted almost glib about it. You made jokes, insisted he just get over it…..he felt betrayed. The fact that everyone of importance seemed to know you were alive while he suffered made him feel as if you didn't care. We both know that isn't true but John needs to hear it."

"Why…why would he blame himself for my jumping?" Sherlock said, growing confused.

"Because he thought for all of that time you committed suicide." Mary said, "He never once believed you were a fraud; he never thought you were a fake. But he thought there was something he could have done, should have done, to save you. Because you were his best friend; because he loves you."

Had John really felt so strongly? Sherlock thought that maybe it was a bit foolish for thinking that way; surely he wasn't to blame. But….John hadn't known everything Sherlock did. From his perspective, was there really any other way to see it?

"I told him I loved him" Sherlock told Mary, looking back up at her. The moment played back in Sherlock's head; not his most articulate moment but he was sure he must have made himself understood.

"Yes, I did" Sherlock said, "I believe I may have implied he was stupid and then told him I loved him on accident"

Mary smiled warmly. "I wouldn't expect it any other way between you two" she said. "So, what did John say? I take it that it didn't go too well based on his reaction when I got here."

"He didn't say anything; I kissed him before he could say anything" Sherlock said. "You really should be quite pleased with him though; as soon as he caught his senses he pulled back and insisted we stop because of his loyalty to you. I believe that was where the problem began; I told him, maybe insensitively, that you wouldn't care because you wanted us all to find some agreement. Somewhere along the line I told him we kissed…apparently. It's all a blur to me."

Mary was nodding, her eyes wide with surprise. "So, that explains why he was so upset." He said with a slight nod.

"I really botched this up, didn't I?" Sherlock said, feeling an uncharacteristic twist in his stomach.

"No, of course you didn't" Mary said, getting out of John's chair and coming to sit in Sherlock's lap. Normally, Sherlock found adults sitting in each other's laps incredibly juvenile but he found that it felt pleasant to have Mary's weight in his lap, her arms around his neck. "John feels things very strongly. This is all a lot for him to deal with. Give him some time to cool down and he will come back. Then we can get this all sorted out."

Mary hugged him, arms around him tightly, his face in her chest. Sherlock thought about arguing; he wasn't sure they could ever get this situated. But instead of arguing, he just let himself be hugged by Mary.

…..

John walked aimlessly down the street, taking in nothing around him for what felt like forever but it could only have been minutes at best. As he had fled from 221B, his anger had burned inside him like an uncontrollable force. As the anger fizzled out, John was left aware of the cold chill, the rain soaking through his clothes and a miserable sick feeling in his stomach. All around him, people walked on the street, talking and laughing; life was normal for them. Not so long ago, John had felt like he belonged to the 'normal' population. Sure, his life had been a bit strange; there were very few people who chased criminals with their crazed, genius roommate. But overall, he would consider himself normal; he worked part time at the surgery, he had a wife he loved, his first child on the way. There had been boundaries…now there was nothing of the sort.

John was furious…how could he not be? He couldn't believe that Sherlock and Mary had kissed and that neither one of them felt it was something to tell him. Where did things really stand between them? And what was Sherlock talking about when he said Mary wanted them all to be together? He felt sick when he thought about the two of them conspiring behind his back to one day become lovers while John was supposed to be alright with it. This wasn't normal; not by a long shot. They seemed to think that a single kiss wasn't a big deal because it hadn't happened again but it was a big deal to John; even their insistence that it had only happened once was pure conjecture to John. He couldn't believe a word they said. If they hadn't told him they kissed, what else had they not told him about?

Add on top of all his confusion about Sherlock and Mary, his confusion about himself and Sherlock. Why had Sherlock even kissed Mary if he supposedly loved John? John guilty wonder for a moment if this was some strange social experiment of Sherlock's, pitting him and Mary against each other but John knew instinctively that it wasn't. Sherlock didn't do experiments like that and even if he did John couldn't believe that he had not been sincere when he said he loved John.

When John finally wandered toward the park, he let himself fall onto a park bench, the rain soaking through his jeans making him even more miserable. His head was spinning; Sherlock had said he loved John and meant it. Over all of the years that John had wished that Sherlock would just feel something, anything, for him rather than being cold and heartless, he had never expected it to end like this. There had been times, especially after Sherlock left, that John just wished more than anything that Sherlock would say something like that to him. On many dark and dreary nights he had wished Sherlock would just stop being dead and come through the door. He had wished that Sherlock would tell him how much he missed him and that deep down he needed him. When Sherlock had come back, picking up his life as if he never left without a single apology, John had reckoned him to be as much a heartless bastard as he ever was. Mary had softened him; that was easy to see. But he and John had never repaired the damage done to their relationship. Now, Sherlock had confessed he not only loved him but that he had for some time and given John what he was loath to admit was one of the best kisses he'd ever had.

Where did that leave him? How could he and Sherlock go back to the way things were? The answer was simple; they couldn't. After that, and whatever happened when he went back home, they could never act as if this hadn't happened. The logical, safe thing to do would be for John and Mary to move out and put some distance between themselves and Sherlock. But could John actually do that? Absolutely not…..he knew with a moment's hesitation that he couldn't possibly go back to the way things had been before he and Mary got married where he saw Sherlock occasionally, as if they were just casual friends and not people who had a bond that couldn't be broken. John couldn't do that and he didn't want to either; he had enjoyed the closeness that they were all developing but it was becoming a bit closer than he realized and he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

As the sun began to set, John picked himself back up and slowly made his way back home. He didn't want to face what he knew would be at home but at the same time he didn't want to be in the cold, dark night either; alone while Mary and Sherlock were at home together.

John took a steeling breath as he climbed up the stairs and tried to ready himself to face Sherlock and Mary. When he walked into the sitting room, they were both just sitting on the couch, staring at him. John felt an irrational flush of anger again; had they just been waiting for him to come back the entire time? On one hand, he was glad that his justified anger had made such an impression but on the other hand he didn't relish the idea they just sat here talking about him either. John could feel their eyes on him, watching him carefully as if he might explode any minuet but he didn't care; he was going to make them be the first ones to speak.

Sherlock was, unsurprisingly, the first one to break the silence. "John…..before we go into anything else, there is something that I want to say" he said, looking pained. It was an odd expression, one Sherlock usually only wore to make people feel guilty; John felt a certain level of pain himself looking at Sherlock; he both wanted to pulverize him and kiss him at the same time. John hated himself for even wanting to do anything but slap him.

"This ought to be good" John said with a sarcastic smile, setting himself into a chair opposite them, unable to bear sitting on the couch with them. "Well, let's hear it…..I'm sure that whatever it is, you and Mary have practiced it until its just right."

John could see Sherlock and Mary visible flinch from his sarcasm and it brought a small measure of satisfaction. "Mary didn't tell me what to say" Sherlock said, looking as if he was gathering courage to say something that was difficult. "She told me simply to be honest and that's what I'm going to do because that is the only way to fix my terrible oversights."

Sherlock took a deep breath and for a moment John was surprised by the genuine nervousness he saw there; Sherlock was never nervous about anything. He could face down any criminal with a cool and steady hand and if he was nervous about this, John could only assume what he was going to say wasn't some well thought out bullshit but the truth. His fear made John's anxiety increase.

"I do have a very strong affection for you, John" Sherlock said, his eyes boring into John's with surprising fierceness. "I know that I don't express my feelings the way that most people do so it's not surprising to me that you never saw my affection for what it was. In truth, I did everything to hide it because I assumed that it didn't matter; I knew you had girlfriends and though I couldn't even recall all their numerous names, I knew they mattered to you. If I had suspected, even for one second that you would have wanted more, I would have told you. It meant more to me to have you as my friend than to lose you forever.

"When I jumped off that building, it was only to protect you. Moriarty would stop at nothing, not even death, until he was sure that he had destroyed everything that mattered to me. And he succeed. Even though I was able to save your life that day, in a way he robbed me of everything that mattered. For two years, I had nothing. I had to leave not only you, John, but my job, my home….everything that I cared about. Those years were only bearable because I knew one day I would defeat all of Moriarty's men and come back to you.

"When I say that you are too emotional for me to tell you I was alive, I meant it as a compliment. You care for me so much John, that you are the only person who, if they knew I was alive, couldn't bear to stay away from me. That means a lot to me; it means you are loyal, it means you're my truest, closest friend. You have stuck by me when no one else would. In truth, I'm not sure I could have remained objectionable if I maintained contact with you during that time. I did not do it to smite you; it was not because I didn't trust you. I don't know if you believe that, but it is true.

"When I returned, I know you felt I was callous because I didn't apologize because of the pain I caused you. It was an error on my part. I was so thrilled to be back; you have no idea. Somedays…..with the things that I saw, it was the only thing that kept me alive to think about being reunited with you. I was so happy to see you that I wanted to pick up right where we left off and forget that any of that awful affair had happened. For that, I owe you a thousand apologies, John; I had no idea you would be so affected. I don't expect you to forgive me right now just because I have apologized, and late at that; but I hope that I one day you will be able to see I did it all for you and crassness on my part was unintentional."

John knew that Sherlock paused at the end of his speech because he was intending for John to say something; he found that he couldn't. Sherlock was cold and appeared to be unfeeling most of the time; John had never heard him really apologize for anything. His speech had made John realize that somewhere under that infallible exterior he had a heart; a big one at that. For the first time, John found himself feeling genuine concern for what Sherlock had gone through while he had been gone. For so long he had though that he had simple went MIA and returned when it was convenient for him. John found himself wondering what he had gone through while he'd been gone.

When John didn't say anything, Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and continued to plow on with his monologue. "I know I must also apologize for kissing Mary" he went on. "I am sorry for that and I take full responsibility for it happening. Mary would not agree that it was all my fault but I am going to insist; she would not have kissed me had I not started it.

"As much as I love you, John, I never saw my feelings for you coming" Sherlock said, almost with a little smile on his face. "I had never loved anyone before and when you came along, it…'swept me away' to use a rather cheesy phrase. When I came back to find you were with Mary I confess I was more than a little hurt. I was sure that Mary would take you away from me and for a while it seemed like that's what happened.

"But Mary surprised me again. I couldn't not like her; she was charming and intelligent and beautiful. She has been kind to me in a way that no one ever has before; I became rather smitten with her. It was only after I confessed to her how I felt about you that she thought it might possible, if you accepted it, for us all to be together. I look at you and Mary and…I want to be part of that. I want to be part of you. Please John….I know you're already thinking of casting me away; it has to have at least crossed your mind. But please don't…you and Mary are my world."

It was so heartfelt, so kind; John would have never believed it possibly out of the man a day ago. It was true and honest and John wanted to get angry about it but he couldn't; he wanted to tell Sherlock to forget it. He wanted to tell Sherlock that there was no way he was going to share Mary, that he was going to open himself to these possibilities but he couldn't do that. Even so, the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "Do you love Mary?"

John asked the question to Sherlock but his eyes were on Mary. She'd been so silent; too silent. Her eyes were full of emotion as she looked at Sherlock; she knew what he'd say before he said it.

"Yes" Sherlock said, unwaveringly. "My affection for you and Mary is completely different but I love you both; you have both become essential to me. I can no longer imagine my life without you."

John put his head in his hands, trying once more to process this. What was he supposed to do in this situation? What was his supposed to do in a world where Sherlock loved him and his wife? What was he supposed to do when he couldn't imagine his life without Sherlock?

"What am I supposed to do with this? John asked, running his hands through his hair as emption washed over him.

"You can allow yourself to feel what you already feel" Mary said, finally breaking her silence. She reached out and took John's hands and though he wanted to pull away, his anger wasn't as great as his need to connection at this moment. And really, how could he fault Mary so much for kissing Sherlock when he had clearly wanted to for years too?

"You love Sherlock, John" Mary said, squeezing his hands. "Though you won't say it, it's true and we both know that. When Sherlock came back into your life, I knew I wouldn't stand a chance if I told you to stay away from him; he was too deeply ingrained in your life. I knew it before I even met him. Look around you; here we are at 221B again neither one of us wants to leave. We all want to stay together so why don't we? There is no reason the three of us can't be a family."

John looked from Mary to Sherlock; they both looked so hopeful though their hope was colored with hesitance. They both wanted this and he was the kink in the wheel of keeping this moving forward. He couldn't help it; he could sense where this was going and he was terrified; terrified because he actually found himself wanting it.

"This is serious" John said, "We're not just playing house here; we can't just fuck around with each other and see what happens. It's not a game; I am the only one that sees there are issues with this?"

"We're not suggesting this is a game; I wouldn't have proposed this if I hadn't thought it through." Mary said, "If this was just about having sex then I would agree that it would have been a bad idea. But I think we can all agree that that's not what it's about. We all have a connection that is bigger than that."

"But some of it is about sex" John stated, feeling heat in his face. He thought about the incident on the couch and knew that it had meant something. At the time, they had all seemed to be content to ignore it and hope that it went away but it obviously meant something. They had all obviously enjoyed it and it alarmed John to what that meant now.

John was glad to see that Sherlock and Mary had the great grace to blush when he said it. "Obviously, that would probably come in to play at some point" Mary said simply, looking embarrassed. Her gaze was determinedly not on Sherlock.

"But we don't have to do anything if you don't want to, John; we only do whatever we are all comfortable with" Sherlock said, blushing more than John had ever seen him. John couldn't believe that Sherlock was the voice of reason here on the matter of sex.

"Oh my god…I can't believe that we are having this conversation" John said with a disbelieved laugh, shaking his head, "Has anyone forgot that I'm not actually gay?"

"Neither am I" Sherlock said eagerly, "I have come to the conclusion after many years that I'm probably bisexual"

John laughed because what else could he do? Sherlock said this all as if it was supposed to be comforting to John, as if being bisexual was somehow easier for him to accept than being gay. He was not even remotely ready to accept that he was anything but straight at the moment.

"Um….okay" John said, feeling uncomfortably warm and flushed. "So…..different question. What are we going to do when we actually have to be responsible? Unless you're forgetting, Mary, we are going to have a baby. What then?"

"What do you mean?" Mary asked confused.

"I mean, are we supposed to be married and in some sort of love triangle with Sherlock with a baby in tow?" John asked, a bit hysterical. "We can't have a baby here. This place is an accident waiting to happen with Sherlock's weapons and chemicals and blowing something up every five seconds."

"Hey" Sherlock said, looking affronted. "I wouldn't conduct experiments with the baby around!"

"This entire flat is an experiment" John countered. "You know nothing about babies"

"Calm down, John" Mary said, "All we are suggesting is that we take this one day at a time, one step at a time. If you are uncomfortable we don't have to do this."

John was overwhelmed; it was all a roller coaster of emotions for him and he couldn't handle it anymore. "But that's the thing isn't it? I don't really have a choice" John said, sounding as tired as he felt. "Because there is no way I could say no. I don't want to be without either or you; I couldn't be without either of you. This is just…all a bit much…"

John wasn't mad, at least not like he had been but he was overwhelmed. If he looked carefully at it he knew it was not because he didn't want of this; it was because he did. Sherlock and Mary weren't forcing him to do something that some part of him hadn't entertained at some point but actually going through with it was serious.

John pushed himself up from his chair and walked out of the room without another word, leaving Mary and Sherlock staring at him; he didn't care. He had thought he had handled the whole thing remarkably well, considering, but he needed time to absorb.

Mary slipped into the bedroom as John was throwing off his clothes and getting ready to get into bed and find some bliss in unconsciousness. She looked tentative as she climbed onto the bed and came to sit behind him, wrapping her arms around him. "Are you really okay, John?" she asked. She was giving him a chance to say that he really wasn't okay with it; a chance to say what he thought without Sherlock there.

"I'm not sure that okay would be the word that I would use" John said, placing his hands over Mary's hands on his chest and trying to relax. "But then again, I don't really know what words would cover what I feel right now. But I don't think okay is it."

"We really don't have to any of this if you don't want to" Mary said sincerely. She was giving him and out and though it seemed like the logical thing to do, John still didn't want it either.

"I do, though. At least I think I do" John said, sighing. "I've always been putty in Sherlock's hands; I've always done what he wanted. Occasionally, what he wants and what I want line up. Really….I can't believe I'm even going to say this but I think I would have any given in any time Sherlock asked."

"That's good, though, isn't it?" Mary asked with some hesitation.

"It'd be fine except that I'm not gay" John said stubbornly. He didn't care what the damn papers said about it, he wasn't.

"It doesn't mean you're gay" Mary insisted as if it were just some trivial detail.

"Then what the hell does it mean?" John asked frustrated.

"Why does it have to have a name?" Mary asked, laying her head on John's shoulder. "You don't have to label it; what would you even call it anyway? You just love Sherlock; it's simple as that. That has always been there so things really haven't changed all that much. And honestly, I think the sex isn't all that important to Sherlock; as long as he can feel like he's a part of our family, that he's allowed to care for us, then he will be happy."

John thought that the way Sherlock had kissed him was an argument contrary that but he didn't say it. Was Sherlock as innocent as Mary implied he was? Was he that insecure?

"Really? You think so?" John asked.

"Of course" Mary enthused. "Like you said, I bring out something in Sherlock and it's called vulnerability. He's very lonely. What started all of this really was that he felt abandoned in a way when he left him. We matter to him and he wants to be with us. He wants to know we want him around"

"Why did he really kiss you? I mean, how did it happen?" the question was out before John really knew he wanted to ask it. Maybe it was a bit masochist of him but he did want to know.

Mary took a deep breath, obviously tensing a bit. "I went down stairs one night to get something from the kitchen and he was down there. Seems he had heard us…..being rather loud about our affections and it bothered him. He was drunk, if that makes it better….He was just really upset and I think he just wanted connection. He asked me what it was like to be loved by you right before, so I thought you might want to know that. Might make he seem not like such a villain in this situation."

It should have been weird; he should have been nothing but angry that Sherlock kissed Mary. But he wasn't…..Mary had a point and John knew it. There was something much deeper in that moment than Sherlock kissing Mary just because he wanted to. Maybe it was true; maybe Sherlock really did need them.

"Oh fine…now I have to be nice to him" John said with a mock serious huff as he got off the bed and walked back into the living room.

Sherlock was sitting in the same place he had been on the couch, legs curled up, his arms around his knees. His face was crestfallen and it only increased John's sympathy for him. _He asked me what it was like to be loved by you…._ the words echoed around John's head making sympathy twist in his belly. He didn't love Sherlock like he loved Mary but did he really give him the impression that he didn't love him at all? John wasn't sure how that was possible.

"Sherlock, go get in bed would you?" John said with a note of impatience, gesturing toward his and Mary's room. He should say that he loved him, but John wasn't sure that he was ready for that yet. He knew the gesture would tell Sherlock something important at least.

Sherlock's face was drooping but his eyes lit up. "What?" he asked.

"You better make it quick or I'll change my mind. Oh, and keep your giant cold feet off mine, would you?" John said, hands on his hips. He was making a show of being serious but they both knew it was all for show.

Sherlock smiled widely, jumping up off the couch and practically running towards John's room. John followed him, trying to suppress a smile. "Hey, I get the middle you know!" he called out as Sherlock disappeared into the room looking happier than John had seen him in a great long while.


	18. Chapter 18

Mary and John slept very differently. Mary always curled up on her side, facing John (facing him too), arms and legs tucked into her self as if she was a little ball. John, on the other hand, seemed to think it was his job to take up as much room in the bed as possible. He lay on his back, arms and legs stretched out, taking up exceptional amounts of space for such a small person; it made it nearly impossible for Sherlock to 'keep his giant cold feet off him'. Doing his best, Sherlock curled up like Mary, his eyes on John.

John was mixed up and all it did was mix Sherlock up. John was angry and sad and he clearly enjoyed when they kissed but he was afraid of getting close…Sherlock considered himself to rather clueless where relationships were concerned and it was always strange to him when he encountered someone else who was just as confused, or more so, than him. He hadn't expected John to instantly be okay with the idea but he knew he hadn't presented it in the best manner either. He had entertained several different scenarios where John had taken the news very well or very poorly but he hadn't really anticipated a scenario where John was somewhat undecided. John had said that he would go through with the whole thing but he seemed…..unsure? John being unsure made Sherlock feel very unsure himself; what if he decided that he didn't want to go through with it? What would that mean? Surely he and Mary would move out of 221B and go their home and leave him alone….again. Just thinking about the possibility made Sherlock's belly ache and squirm; his anxiety was so great it was affecting his digestion and that wasn't something that often happened.

Pushing those anxious thoughts aside Sherlock focused instead on John as he lay there and memories of their kiss. Sherlock hadn't planned the kiss; normally people didn't kiss in the middle of a fight he knew. But he just felt…a bit insane. John had been throwing out all these terrible accusations about how he didn't care about anyone and how Sherlock had wronged him in so many ways by leaving him. Sherlock just wanted him to see….why couldn't he see? Why couldn't John just see that he had done it all for him? It hurt Sherlock, in a way things that didn't often hurt him, that after all of the pain and sacrifices that he had done John still didn't see that he had done it all because he loved him, or even that he appreciated what Sherlock had done. He would have done it all anyway, even if John had never spoken to him again; he wouldn't have been able to bear the knowledge that his refusal to act had killed John. But still…all of the anger and pain and hurt had rushed to the front his mind and it had come out as him kissing John.

Sherlock smiled when he thought about that. Even though the aftermath of the kiss had not gone so well, the kissing itself was something he had very much committed to his memory. It had been what he had wanted, all he'd wanted; John in his arms, clearly moved by his touch. So many times he had considered it and though he wished he had planned the timing better, he was not sorry it had happened. John had held back for all of a few seconds but then he was kissing him back; he let Sherlock lead but there was all of the touches of anger and passion in the motions he gave back. And though he didn't comment on it, he was not unaware that John had been physically aroused by it. Though John insisted that he was not interested in that, in so many words, Sherlock didn't believe it for one second.

But, really it didn't matter. Sherlock wouldn't pretend that he didn't want to have a physical relationship with John because he certainly did. But it wasn't what was at the forefront of his mind. This…..this being able to tell John and Mary how he really felt about them, being allowed to touch them and have then touch them in affection, being included….that was what was important. Sherlock had never really desired such a connection which was good because he wouldn't have gotten it from anyone else; John and Mary had broken him in the best way possible. He cared for them and wanted to be cared by them and though it felt like such a chemical defect Mycroft had always warned him about he couldn't be upset about it. Belonging to them, being a part of them felt more important than anything else he'd been a part of. Sherlock and John and Mary and their tiny micro human (a girl, Sherlock was fairly sure but he wouldn't spoil the surprise)….somehow, as unconventional as it sounded, it sounded like a family to him.

….

When Mary woke up the next morning, she was instantly thinking about the previous evening. She'd gone to bed thinking about it and it was the first thought that came to her mind in the morning. She was filled with excitement though hesitance at the same time. She was excited for the prospect that things could become normal between her and John and Sherlock. It was an enticing idea that they could all just come out and be honest with each other not to mention all of the exciting new experiences that they could and would no doubt share with each other. But at the same time she was nervous. She wanted John really to be alright with it all and she was worried about what would happen if it ended badly, both for him and Sherlock. She hoped that this wasn't the train wreck in progress that John had said it might be.

Mary was not surprised to find that Sherlock had already gotten up and John was splayed over the part of bed he had been taking up. She smiled as she watched him sleeping, looking so peaceful; she slipped out of bed quietly, figuring after all of the shocks yesterday he needed extra sleep now more than ever.

Mary was used to finding Sherlock in surprising situations around the flat, knowing by now what it was like to live with him, but even she was not expecting to find him that morning sitting in the floor of the sitting room surrounded by opened books and piles of torn up nappies, trying to wrestle a nappy onto a doll, his face a mask of frustration.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Mary asked curiously, sitting down on the floor across from him as he attempted to put the nappy on a doll that looked like it could have been in a horror film.

"These things are pointless!" Sherlock said, throwing the doll and the nappy toward Mary in frustration. "Why do they have to be so difficult? Children need several nappy changes a day so why on earth would they make them so difficult to assemble?"

Mary bit her lip, trying to surpass a smile. The brilliant Sherlock Holmes could forensically disassemble a crime scene but he couldn't put a nappy on; it was amusing whether Sherlock thought so or not. "Here, let me show you how to do it" Mary said, taking the doll and putting the nappy on it.

Sherlock frowned as Mary accomplished the task in no time. "See? Now you try it" Mary said encouragingly.

Sherlock didn't look happy about it but he managed to put it on the correct way. "There, I guess!" Sherlock said, holding up the doll with the nappy on as if it were a terribly tough project he was glad to be done with.

"What's up with the doll, Sherlock?" Mary asked, looking at the hairless, somewhat burnt looking doll.

"I used to conduct experiments on it" Sherlock said off handily. "But that doesn't mean I would conduct experiments on a real child just so John knows!"

Well, there was something Mary definitely wanted to know more about; what kind of experiments did Sherlock use a doll for? But he had said the comment about John so forcefully that Mary knew she had to address it. "What are you talking about?" Mary asked.

"John…he thinks I'm completely irresponsible, not fit for being around your baby" Sherlock said, obviously offended. "I'm trying to learn more about infants so I can prove him wrong. But there's so much to learn! God! How do millions of women do it!?"

Mary smiled, feeling the warmness of affection spread through her for Sherlock. It was so sweet of him to be so concerned by it. John's remark had obviously hurt him and he wanted to prove that he could help with the baby so they stuck around. Mary could just picture Sherlock in the store picking up the nappies and pregnancy books he had here and she could help but grin. "It's going to be okay" Mary said, coming to sit next to Sherlock so she could put her arm around him. "John and I have never been parents either so we will be learning right along with you. I have to tell you, Sherlock, I'm more than a little freaked out about it all. But that's okay too; that's normal. We will all learn."

"I sincerely hope you're right" Sherlock said pouting. "John seems to not have much confidence in me."

"He's just protective; already his fatherly instincts are kicking in. I'm sure that he knows you wouldn't really harm our baby" Mary assured him. She pulled him close, resting her head against Sherlock's. "And you what today is?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, staring down moodily.

"We get to go see an ultrasound of the baby. They should be able to tell us today what it is" Mary said, excitement coloring her features.

"What in the world is all of this?" John asked as he came into the room, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he took in the explosion of nappies around the room.

"A picture of what our near future will look like" Mary teased standing up and giving John a kiss on the cheek. "Sherlock was just expanding his knowledge on babies."

"Seriously?" John asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Sherlock. "You're learning to change nappies?"

John was smiling and Mary could see Sherlock's cheeks color. "Yes, actually I am" Sherlock said smugly, trying not to look offended.

"I guess I've seen everything now" John said with a grin. "We can put you to work then, when the baby's born?"

"Of course…..what would be the point of learning if I didn't intend to use my skills?" Sherlock said sassily.

Mary had to smile at then; she was glad to see that not everything had changed at least. "I was just telling Sherlock that we get to find out today what the baby is" she said, putting her hand into John's and giving it a squeeze.

John smiled. "I know…..I can't wait" he said, putting his hand on Mary's developing baby bump and looking down adoringly at it. Mary never got tired of that look; when she had found out, via Sherlock's deductions that she was pregnant, Mary had worried how John would react. They hadn't been trying to get pregnant, obviously, and John had never really expressed any interest in having children. Mary worried that he would be disappointed; she had to admit that she'd been more than alarmed at it herself seeing as she hadn't been planning on having kids. But John had taken to the whole idea very quickly and she could see now that he would be a good father.

"We can finally figure out the answer to our debate" Mary said with a mischievous smile.

"What debate is that?" Sherlock asked, tossing his doll aside and appearing to try and regain his dignity.

"John is convinced that the baby will be a boy and I say it's a girl" Mary said, "Of course, it doesn't matter but it will be nice to finally start picking out names and things for the nursery. What's your guess on the sex of the baby?"

Sherlock's smile was mischievous; he knew Mary's asking a guess was as good as knowing for certain. "Well, sorry to argue with you yet again John but women tend to know with surprising accuracy what is growing in their own bodies so I'm going to guess girl" he said with a knowing look.

"Well, I guess we will see" John said trying to look just as knowing as Sherlock but the effect was ruined when he smiled.

….

John had not expected Mary to actually ask Sherlock to come with them to the doctor; he even less expected Sherlock to accept her invitation. Not wanting to sound rude or inconsiderate, John hadn't said anything but now as he stood in the doctor's office awkwardly standing by Mary on the exam table next to Sherlock he had to wonder if this was more than a little strange. Shouldn't it just be him and Mary sharing this moment? Yes…..even so it would have felt odd leaving Sherlock out. He was a part of this now, right? How much a part John didn't know; all of this was so unprecedented.

John looked at Mary lying on the exam table, her face calm and pleased as John looked at her and held her; leave it to Mary to always be calm. She smiled up him as she gave his hand a squeeze. "I love you" she said simply.

It was something that they had declared to each other so many times and yet John felt it keenly this time. The previous day had been more than a little insane and filled with their obvious love for Sherlock but they hadn't necessarily assured each other that everything was still the same between them.

"I love you too" John said, putting sincerity into his words that he hoped Mary really sensed.

Naturally, the moment was interrupted by Sherlock. There was the sound of a crash and when John turned around he saw Sherlock pilfering through the cabinets.

"What are you doing?" John asked incredulously, though in reality it shouldn't have surprised him .Taking Sherlock places was like taking a child out; he got into everything.

"I'm just taking a look around" Sherlock said defensively, all the while twirling a medical tool in his hand.

John didn't even try to hold back his smile. "Do you know that thing is?" John asked as he pointed to the tool Sherlock had his hands all over.

It appeared to cause Sherlock great pain to admit that he didn't. "No" he finally said, stubbornly.

"That's a speculum and it's for opening vaginas" John said before fully give into a laugh.

Sherlock's cheeks turned red as he tossed the item promptly on the floor and proceeded to sulk in the corner. Mary giggled behind her hand.

A few minutes later the door of the office opened and Mary's doctor came in. "Good morning, Mary…..John" Dr. Morris said in a friendly tone as she sat down at the chair that was next to the ultrasound machine. "Are we excited for today?"

"Yes…..I can't wait to finally see it" Mary said, excitement and a bit of nerves showing on her face. "It still all seems a bit surreal still."

"Well, hopefully this little peak will make it seem a little more real" Dr. Morris said.

Sherlock was slowly edging away from his spot in the corner to come stand next to Mary's other side. His hands were in his pockets and he was slouching, something he nagged other people about, as if he were trying to fade into the background. John had never seen him so out of place looking.

"Ah, and who is this?" Dr. Morris asked, obviously surprised by Sherlock's appearance in the room. John noticed him cringe slightly at being noticed.

"This is Sherlock. He's our….." John started but then got lost. What was Sherlock? Their third wheel, their overgrown man-child, their potential fuck buddy? John didn't even want to acknowledge that he had thought the last one.

"He's our very good friend" John finally said and it actually felt right.

"Ah, well, the more the merrier, right?" Dr. Morris said. She prepped the machine and moved closer towards Mary, putting gel on her stomach. "How have you been feeling since your last appointment?"

"The morning sickness is mostly gone; now I just want to eat everything" Mary said with a small laugh.

"Well, that's normal" Dr. Morris said, putting the transducer on her stomach and moving it around. John smiled as he heard the familiar whooshing sound of a baby's heartbeat; this time though it was HIS baby. He could see Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, studying the ultrasound screen carefully.

"And there is your baby"

Everything stopped. For the first time, it all became real for John. That was the moment that the baby inside Mary went from being a faraway idea, something that would one day come to be, and became something that already existed. Something to love, protect and completely steal his heart before it was even born; he had already been excited, already devoted to the idea of it all but that expounded exponentially in that moment. Somehow, by a supreme miracle that John had never appreciated until it had happened to him, his and Mary's love had come together to make a baby, an actual person, that was half him and half her.

When he looked at Mary, he could see tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. Their eyes locked and even though there were no words for what he wanted to say he knew that he and Mary were feeling the same thing in that moment.

"Do you want to know the baby's gender? The baby is in a very good position to tell" Dr. Morris said, smiling at them.

"Yes, definitely" John said at the same time that Mary spoke her assent as well.

"Congratulations, you are having a girl" Dr. Morris said.

John had thought for Mary's entire pregnancy that he wanted a son so badly he had convinced himself that that was what it was going to be. He was sure that's what he wanted. But in that moment it didn't matter, not in the least. He was having a girl, a daughter. His thoughts of protection increased exponentially as he formed in his mind the image of his daughter, full of bright blue eyes and gorgeous blonde hair; a perfect little version of Mary.

"A girl…..we're having a daughter, John" Mary said, the tears that had filled her eyes spilling over now as she made no move to wipe them away, her hand still tightly grasping his.

"I hope she's just like you" John said honestly, his heart feeling like it was bursting inside his chest. How was it possible to be so much in love with someone he hadn't even met yet?

"She'll be perfect, magnificent…she's coming from both of you after all." Sherlock said.

The remark caused both John and Mary to look at Sherlock. John wouldn't have thought Sherlock unaffected in this moment but even so he was surprised to see such deep emotion in his eyes as he looked back forth from them to the sonogram. John didn't have to have Sherlock's deductive skills to see that his mind was turning in the same fashion as John's. He was lost in the idea of all their baby was going to be and, stunningly, he was already smitten as well. John knew then that he had underestimated Sherlock's capacity for love in so many ways.

Mary took Sherlock's hand in her free hand, looking at Sherlock as if she could read everything on him that John had as well. If John could have frozen time in that moment, the way he felt, the possibilities ahead of him, sharing it with the two people he loved, he would have in a heartbeat.

…..

They spent the rest of the day in a lazy haze. They ordered sandwiches at a restaurant and then took them to the park. Sherlock grumbled a bit about 'eating with the dirt and filth' but even he finished his entire lunch. John had to smile; Sherlock definitely took better care of himself now that Mary and John were around him constantly. He was nearly in danger of not being underweight anymore and John was pleased.

They walked from shop to shop that afternoon, looking at baby clothes and other items, all in a baby fever of their own. John was stunned by how many items it apparently took to care for a baby but he couldn't help but get lost in all of the adorable little dresses and clothes filled with pink and frills. In a way it seemed impossible that they would be ready in the short time they had until the baby was born and in other ways 20 weeks to wait to hold his child seemed an eternity away.

Sherlock's behavior after the ultrasound was stunning to John. While out shopping, he had gotten a call from Lestrade that he hadn't even answered; John was sure that his mouth must have hung open in shock. John had never seen him do that, ever; he didn't even appear interested in hearing about a case and it could have been a triple homicide for all he knew. He not only seemed perfectly content to walk around with them all day but he, like John and Mary, got lost amongst the baby blankets and dummies, getting a faraway dreamy look on his face when he held them. John had to admit he'd thought it was totally hilarious to see Sherlock surrounded in nappies that morning but now he could see Sherlock was genuinely interested. For some reason, Sherlock genuinely cared for and wanted to be a part of their child's life in a way that John would not have thought possible. Recalling Sherlock's comment earlier at the doctor's office he was sure that he knew the reason.

And if that all wasn't surprising enough, when they had gone home Sherlock had made them all dinner. He had made the lasagna like he had so long ago, but entirely without Mary's help; he had insisted that Mary 'needed her rest' and sent her and John out of the kitchen to go relax. Stunned, they had gone to their room where John indulged Mary in a long massage and they spent an exorbitant amount of time rubbing and staring at her belly, throwing names back and forth about what they might name the baby.

Sherlock's dinner was, John had to admit, delicious. He was obviously a quick learner as the lasagna was spectacular and he had even made a cheesecake for dessert and had actually gone out and gotten John's favorite wine. John was, to say the least, stunned. It seemed almost to John as if Sherlock was going the extra mile to show him and Mary he could be good company, that he had a part in their relationship. John had to admit it was working; if this was what it was like to be dated by Sherlock then he should have done it a long time ago. Sherlock was, in all sense of the words, downright charming that night. And for the first time ever, John allowed himself to see it and bask in it fully. Instead of pushing any warm feelings he had for Sherlock away, he indulged them. By the end of dinner, John felt flushed and flustered and positively smitten. A glance at Mary told him that she the same way; John was surprised that it didn't seem to bother him like he thought it would.

John was warm with wine and food and happiness like he rarely felt as they made their way into the sitting room after dinner. Sherlock was, unbelievably, cleaning up, and Mary turned the radio on before turning toward towards John, arms out eager for a dance. John wasn't a good dancer and typically never had enjoyed it but any excuse to have Mary in his arms had always been a good one. Standing by the fire, still on a high from the wonderful day they had all had, their dance quickly turned into a slow, lazy affair that was little dancing and mostly long, slow kissing that made John's head spin.

It wasn't until they finally broke apart that John became aware of Sherlock sitting in his chair feet from them, watching them keenly with a smile on his face. John felt his face flush. "Don't stop on my account" Sherlock said, laughing slightly. "I was just waiting for my turn to cut in and dance with a beautiful woman."

Mary blushed under the compliment, still dancing slowly with John. She kissed John again, slow and deep; John was aware that they were being watched but it only made him feel like he had a fire inside.

When the song that was playing ended, Mary finally released him, a shy grin on her face. "How about it? Let Sherlock cut in?" she asked him.

She was asking his permission but John was far too happy and far too pleased to say no. "I suppose I will release you…..for a time" John said cheekily with a wink. He let go of her hand and sat down as he looked at Sherlock.

"You may have this dance, Sherlock" Mary said dramatically, holding out her hand as she approached Sherlock.

Sherlock stood up and gave her a gallant bow before saying, "Ah, my lady, it would be a pleasure"

John watched Mary put her arms around Sherlock's neck and his hands came to rest on her hips. She looked up at him they began to sway with the music. John didn't know why but he felt himself get lost in their movements and the deep looks in their eyes.

"Dinner was spectacular, Sherlock. We really had the best evening" Mary said enthusiastically as she danced with Sherlock.

"It is the least I could do; don't you deserve to be taken care of? You are nurturing a new life inside you." Sherlock said.

"I suppose so" Mary said, flushing pleasantly.

Sherlock was charming; who knew? Until recently John wouldn't have ever used that word to describe him but he could see it now. Very rarely did Sherlock show this side of himself but apparently, if he wanted to be, he could be charming and romantic. Add that to his superior intelligence and good looks, he could be a force to be reckoned with and John and Mary were right in his path of destruction.

"You know, Mary, you are truly must be the picture of what Lord Byron saw when he wrote _She Walks in Beauty"_ Sherlock said, staring into Mary's eyes.

That look….John should have been angry; shouldn't this be the point where he stepped in? That look that Sherlock was giving Mary and the look she was mirroring back at him was enough to melt anyone into a puddle and that's precisely what John felt like. He had wanted to not be alright with any of this; that's what he had said and made every effort to feel. But all he felt was his eyes locked on them.

"Ah…..is it a flattering poem?" Mary asked, obviously pleased.

"Very" Sherlock said with a grin before he started to recite the poem, his voice dark and several octaves lower than his normal speaking voice.

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

John had to give it to Sherlock; that was smooth. John had never been aware of Sherlock having much special knowledge of literature; it wasn't his area of expertise and certainly not poetry. Pretty soon he was going to be in the position of taking tips off of Sherlock. Mary was taken in, flushed with pleasure. "That was lovely, Sherlock" she said.

John was surprised when Mary leaned forward and gave Sherlock a kiss though he supposed that he shouldn't have been. It was innocent enough; closed lipped and short but it still gave John a strange sensation in his stomach. Like he was falling but falling in a way that he wanted to. He felt a flare of jealously seeing them kiss; not enough for him to get mad but enough that it ignited his passion to be a part of something similar.

"The pleasure was all mine" Sherlock said, his eyes alight and excited as he pulled back and released Mary from his arms.

Mary looked beautiful; he didn't know how but John seemed to find her more and more attractive every day. He always thought that he loved her as much as he possibly could and yet it was always increasing. He was thoroughly ready to step in and dance with her now that Sherlock had given her up but he found himself stopped before he a chance to do it.

"John?" Sherlock was standing in front of him, hand out, a small, hesitant smile on his face.

Sherlock was asking him to dance; add that to list of things that he thought that he would never see that was somehow happening to him. "Oh…..I don't know" John said, feeling himself flush with embarrassment at the thought of it. He wanted to do it but at the same time he didn't. He was afraid of the charm and affection that had been building up all night and what he might do with it.

"Well, if you don't want to….." Sherlock said, taking his hand away. There was no other word to describe him than defeated. His face fell and all happiness in his expression dimmed. He was horribly let down and it was obvious. John felt guilt sink into him and he rushed to remedy the situation.

"What I mean is, I'm a terrible dancer" John said quickly standing up as Sherlock was about to sit down in defeat.

At John's words, Sherlock turned around with a wide smile on his face. "I didn't intend to let you lead" he said, with a slight sassiness but he was obviously happy.

"Maybe it's not your choice" John threw back, glad that even with so much emotion floating around him he could still find some way to argue with Sherlock.

"You're short and you're a bad dancer. I will lead" Sherlock shot back. Of course…Sherlock did always win though.

"Fine…I guess I'll let you" John couldn't help but say in his defense. Mary had taken his seat and was looking at them, giggling slightly.

"Just get on with it" she teased them, eyes eager for the show.

John laughed uncomfortably, turning back towards Sherlock. With shyness he didn't often feel, John put his hands around Sherlock's neck as Sherlock's hands went to his hips.

 _Well, that was definitely different…._ John had dated a few women who were taller than him but not this much taller than him and he still always led. It was strange but in an exciting way. Sherlock was so tall that John had to look up at him. Sherlock's hold on his hips was gentle, as if he felt John might break under him.

John was aware of everything; the slight touch of his and Sherlock's bodies as they moved a certain way, his nervous sweaty hands, Sherlock's hands on him, his heartbeat racing, Sherlock's keen eyes on him.

"You're not a terrible dancer" Sherlock said, as one song faded into another and they didn't let go.

John laughed slightly. "From you that's a ringing endorsement" he said. "I'll take that as my compliment. Though, if you feel like spouting off poetry to me you feel free to do so"

John said it like a joke but he felt guilty that really he hoped that Sherlock DID recite poetry to him. Seriously, that would be one for the record books….

John laughed but when he looked back at Sherlock he was looking at him with his blue eyes smolderingly dark. "I don't believe that there has been a poem written in human existence that could adequately say how I feel about you" Sherlock said seriously.

Sherlock's face moved forward and for a moment John thought he was going to kiss him; for a moment he thought he'd let him. Sherlock's forehead came to rest on John's and he felt an ache go through him that he felt throughout his whole body. He was burning and chilled at the same time, feeling sudden need shock his senses.

"God…..what are we doing, Sherlock?" John gasped, his voice so low it was to hear as his soaked up the feel of Sherlock so close to him that he could feel him breathing and smell the wine on his breath. Sherlock loved him even though John didn't think he should and John wanted to kiss him though he didn't think he should either.

"If my closeness frightens you I can move away" Sherlock said, though the shaky tone he had suggested that he could do anything but that.

"Of course it frightens me…..but that doesn't mean I want you to go away" John said. "I'm just…startled by my feelings."

"Which are?" Sherlock asked, breathless. Heat seemed to radiate from his body in a way that John was very aware of.

"I'm not sure I could articulate them either" John said honestly. A tremble went through his body and he was sure that it was not missed by Sherlock. Some part of him was still trying to resist this, to resist him, but it was the losing part of him.

"I really want to kiss you, John" Sherlock whispered, his lips already almost brushing John's. It was his way of asking John's permission this time; being a gentlemen when he had jumped him yesterday. Of course he had to be a gentleman; John wished that he wouldn't.

Some part of him thought to say no but yes was out of his mouth before he could stop. "Okay" John gasped.

That was all that Sherlock needed. His lips were on John's taking his breath away, his huge hands cradling John's head. Any moment of hesitation in John's mind was dashed away as his body was swept away with sensation.

It was different than it had been the day before. Yesterday, he hadn't known that it was coming; it was completely unexpected but he had thought even in the moment that it was something that he thought that he couldn't have. Now, he knew he could have it and that it was okay; though some part of him felt that he shouldn't want it, he did.

John definitely could say that Sherlock kissed like no one else he has ever known. What Sherlock lacked in emotion around most people he obviously saved for the people he had in private. Sherlock kissed like he was being consumed; like he was a dying man and he had no time left for anything. Sherlock was full of speed and heat and passion; his hands held John's head in place, pulling him toward him closer and closer until their chests were touching. John could feel Sherlock's heat radiating through his thin shirt and wondered what his skin might feel like. Too tempted to resist, John slipped one hand in the space between two of the buttons on Sherlock's shirt and touched his chest, smooth skin and sparse hair; something else entirely new. Sherlock moaned slightly, trilling against his mouth at the simple touch. It ignited something in John and he felt himself grab Sherlock around the back and pull him closer to himself, for a small moment managing the kiss while Sherlock floundered in his hands.

John's head was spinning and he forgot himself until he heard the sound of a whistle behind him. Breaking free of Sherlock's lips he turned around and saw Mary grinning from ear to ear as she watched them. John felt himself blush; he'd almost forgotten she was there. John was so unaccustomed to being watched and sharing that it was going to make him blush like a schoolgirl for some time he knew.

"What a show boys" Mary said with a mischievous grin, whistling again. "Please, by all means, do that again."

John could feel heat radiating off his face. God, he loved Mary; not only was she okay with this but she thoroughly seemed to enjoy it. When he looked back at Sherlock, he was glad to see he looked just as embarrassed. He bit his lips, as if hesitating to do it again. Again, a note of nervousness colored John but he pushed it away.

"Well, if Mary insists, I suppose we have to" John said, smiling crookedly at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned back. "Mary is the boss" he said, already moving toward John again.


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter Warning: Contains adult/sexual content_

In the weeks that followed John's finding out and ultimately accepting his and Mary's plan, Sherlock was surprised at how his life had changed. Most of the time, things seemed as they always were; London was delightfully interesting at that time. He and John worked cases together just like they always had. They acted very much the same but to Sherlock it felt different; in all the ways that mattered Sherlock knew it had changed. Though affection was exchanged tentatively in those times as they all were getting used to it, just the fact that Sherlock knew he was allowed to care meant the world to him. He could be kinder, he could allow himself to feel things…..it was a welcome change.

Mary and John were both entirely different to be with but perfect in each way. Things with Mary were as easy as they had always been but now he felt allowed to let her be affectionate with him. He'd been apprehensive, especially before he had kissed Mary the first time in John's presence. He wouldn't have blamed John for feeling jealous but if he felt that way he didn't let it show. The more it went on the more that he became convinced that it was alright to let Mary care for him and it would be alright with John. Sherlock basked in the affection that Mary was so willing with; hugs, cuddling in bed, rubbing his hair as they watched something on telly…..all of it was good and it colored Sherlock's life in a bright way that little else had before.

John was different but Sherlock knew he would be. John wasn't overly affectionate and aside from the two times they had kissed in the very beginning they hadn't done it again. John would curl up next to him or occasionally hold him while they slept but nothing else ever happened. That was okay; Sherlock knew that it was a harder adjustment and after as long as he'd already waited he was more than fine waiting some more. He wanted John to be comfortable with what was happening and he didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize that. John had been, and would be, worth waiting for.

It was a dreary, cold evening a few weeks later when Sherlock arrived back at 221B after having finished up some work at the Yard. Mary had had another appointment at the doctor's and though Sherlock wanted to come like last time, John insisted he finish up the loose ends of the case while he took Mary to the doctor. Sherlock had felt torn; it wasn't like him to want to leave at the end of a case but he didn't want to miss seeing the baby again. He felt…connected to the small little baby already .He knew that defied logic but that was how he felt. He wanted to know that Mary and the baby were fine; he wanted to know everything that was going on with them. He recalled how he had felt a very short few months ago he had been terrified about the baby. He'd realized long before Mary and John did that Mary was pregnant; he told them with a happy face but he'd been terrified. It had felt like the final nail in the coffin of them leaving him to have their own life. But it had all changed; this baby was a part of the two people he loved most and would be an extension of that. She wasn't going to take them from Sherlock; they were all together now.

So, though he'd been torn, he had wrapped up the loose ends of the case and returned to 221B in the middle of post-case euphoria, eager to hear that everything had gone well at the doctor's office. It was beginning to storm as he walked into his flat and he was relieved to take shelter from the huge rain drops that fell and the pound of thunder.

Sherlock stopped, stunned, when he entered the sitting room and saw Mary sitting on the couch watching telly in the strangest outfit he could have imagined her to be in. She was wearing a red silk dress that he thought should have been considered underwear with stockings to match that went almost all of the way up her legs to where her short dress stopped and on top of her head was a hairband that had red horns on it. Sherlock was so stunned that at first he didn't know what to say. All that kept popping into his head was the night she and John had had sex on the couch beside him and her nightgown kept riding up so that he could see her bottom. Sherlock felt his cheeks flush and his heart speed up; it wasn't exactly a common feeling for him and he was thoroughly flustered by it.

Mary noticed him. "Hey, what's with you? You look like you have seen a ghost…..though I suppose that this is the perfect night for it" she said with a laugh, looking away from the television and toward him.

Sherlock forced his tongue to work as he looked away from Mary's stockinged legs. "What ARE you wearing?" he asked in bewilderment.

Mary laughed. "It's my costume; I'm a devil" she said, standing up and twirling around so he could see the full costume. He wasn't sure that was such a good idea as it seemed to be even shorter in the back and all of his blood was certainly rushing away from his brain.

"What would you dress like that for?" Sherlock asked, trying to act aloof but coming off as shaky.

"Don't tell me you weren't aware it was Halloween" Mary teased him.

"Of course I wasn't…..why would I? I was on a case" Sherlock said.

Mary giggled. "Of course you can't be expected to worry about what date it is when you're defending London" Mary said. Though it sounded like she was teasing him, she ran her hand along his chest and smiled at him and he couldn't help but enjoy it.

"John and I are going to a costume party. You should come with us" Mary said, looking at Sherlock eagerly.

"And why on earth would I want to do that?" Sherlock asked. Though he enjoyed Mary and John's company and they had made being social better in many ways, he on the whole did not enjoy being with large groups of people and certainly not strangers.

"Open bar" Mary said with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yes so I can watch people get stupider throughout the evening?" Sherlock asked disdainfully.

"While you get stupider with them" Mary said.

"I think not" Sherlock said.

He was almost feeling himself again when Mary began to twirl around in that too tiny red costume. "You could be mine and John's lovely date" Mary said in a deep voice, wrapping her arms around his neck. She gave him a suggestive look that brought all of his hot flushed feelings back.

"You could let us dress you up" Mary trilled. "Then you could escort a dangerous little devil and a strong, tough solider."

"Solider?" Sherlock asked, feeling slow effects of all of his blood rushing south.

"Well, that would be me dummy" said John behind him playfully.

When Sherlock turned around he was stunned for the second time in a five minuet period. John was smiling care freely, oblivious to the effect he was having on Sherlock.

The army uniform…THE uniform; Sherlock had never seen it but he had wanted to. After he had jumped from St. Bart's and had to endure all sorts of hellacious tortures, he used to dream of John and that uniform sometimes. Sherlock fancied himself pretty well able to take care of himself but in those moments, broken of his self and lonelier than he had ever imagined possible, he had dreamed about John charging in, strong and confident and stealing him back from his captors. Recalling that image of John, wind-swept hair, battle dirtied skin, head to toe in his army uniform as he saved Sherlock like a princess from a castle, made Sherlock blush.

"Oh, alright…..fine. I'll go" Sherlock said, throwing up his hands and trying to sound nonchalant but Mary and John both laughed; neither one was fooled.

….

"Make up? Really, Mary? Don't I look ridiculous enough?" Sherlock asked as Mary came at him with a compact of powder half an hour later.

"Of course you do but this will make it even better" John snickered as he leaned against the bathroom door frame as he watched Mary complete Sherlock's costume.

"You don't look ridiculous. A lot of women like vampires, you know; find them sexy" Mary said with a wink.

Sherlock smiled; the only woman's opinion that mattered to him was the woman standing in front of him which was precisely the reason he had allowed her to make him up in the first place. He'd go to the party because it was something Mary and John wanted to do and that was part of being with them. And even if he did look like a character out of vampire drama at least he didn't have to look at himself; he got to look at Mary and John all evening and they looked fantastic so in some ways he was the one winning.

"He certainly has the complexion for it; even without the makeup" John teased. He was smiling and though Sherlock did feel some abuse at his comments and laughing, he could tell some part of John was pleased at how he looked.

"Oh, you leave him alone" Mary said, dabbing powder on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock tried not to scrunch up his face as Mary rubbed it with the makeup but he thoroughly didn't enjoy it. He kept looking at Mary and John's costumes to remind himself why he was doing this.

Mary finished with the makeup and got out a bottle of gel and came at him with it. "Oh, now surely there is somewhere to draw the line" Sherlock protested, holding his hair as Mary came out him.

"It's just gel" Mary said, moving Sherlock's hands away from his head. John was laughing behind her.

"And what is your problem?" Sherlock said scathingly.

"This is payback" John said, "For dressing me up that night we went to catch Werner. Now it's your turn to be doused with gel and feel ridiculous."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pretended to be irritated at John as Mary put the gel on his hair and tried to smooth his hair back. It stayed for all of three seconds before his wild curls snapped back into place.

Mary giggled and Sherlock couldn't help but smile; Mary's laugh was infectious. "Well, maybe you'll just be a curly haired vampire" she relented, tossing aside the gel bottle.

….

"Where's Sherlock?" Mary asked John, craning her neck and looking around the flat.

John laughed as he sipped a beer and pointed to a spot across the room. "Sulking in the corner," he said. It was about the third time that they had lost him only to find him squeezed into the smallest part of the room as if he wanted to disappear.

"He looks miserable" Mary said sympathetically. "Maybe we should go"

"He's fine; he hates people but it does him good to be a little uncomfortable sometimes" John said. There was only so much they could all dancing they could all do together and since Sherlock refused to drink (he knew he lost control when he drank and he didn't like to do it unless he was at home) or talk to anyone, he wasn't having that much fun.

John on the other hand was having plenty of fun. Making small talk all night with Mary's friends wasn't exactly his idea of having fun but Mary in her skimpy costume was his idea of a good time. John was feeling delightfully tipsy from the drinks he had, his body sensitive to every touch Mary gave him as they danced. He couldn't help touching every bit of exposed skin or allowing his eyes to roam; he could tell by Mary's matching his actions that she was appreciating his costume just as much. In all of the confusion of adding Sherlock to their relationship his and Mary's physical relationship seemed to stand still. It wasn't intentional but sex had just seemed so loaded an idea at the moment that it had become intimidating. All night John was overly aware of just how long it had been.

"What is he doing now?" Mary asked with a laugh.

John turned back toward where Sherlock had been slammed into a corner as if trying to disappear. He was now walking around the room, following a huge guy dressed like a ninja; he made even Sherlock look short in comparison. When the man stopped at the drinks table, Sherlock dove under it to not be spotted. It wasn't Sherlock's smoothest move, especially not with the cape he was wearing. John couldn't help but laugh.

"Getting into trouble is my guess" John said, watching Sherlock peak up from under the table and watching the man making a drink. His eyes were wide, intent and when the ninja began to walk down the hallway, Sherlock began to tail him from a distance, looking particularly ridiculous in his costume.

"My guess is he has made some deduction he can't keep to himself" John said, watching the man and Sherlock disappear. "Bet he's going to get his ass beat."

John laughed but Mary gave him a playful punch in the arm. "And you're going to let that happen?" she asked.

"Sherlock has a big mouth; he's gotten his ass kicked a few times. Good for him sometimes; besides, I couldn't do anything to stop that guy" John said.

"You don't think we should intervene?" Mary asked in concern.

"Nah…..I think we should dance" John said with a grin as he pulled Mary into his arms.

"Well, I really think we should intervene…..but I guess we can leave him hanging for a few minutes" Mary said, giving him a warm smile, putting her arms around his neck and swaying closer and closer to John until they were touching. John could feel all of Mary's heat in addition to his own and he was hyper aware of every touch.

Mary leaned her head on John's chest, her arms traveling up and down John's back making him feel electricity in the touch. John let his hands drift down her back and come to rest on her hips, tantalizingly close to the swell of bum. Mary gave him a gentle sway of her hips that rubbed up against him in a way that she knew had to affect him.

"What are you trying to do to me?" John asked, his voice catching a beat. How long had it been? It felt like an eternity since he'd felt Mary's skin against his own.

"What do you think I'm doing, Captain Watson? Trying to get you hot" Mary said with a wink.

"No trying about it; I think I'm already well past that" John said with a laugh.

He was seconds away from asking Mary if they could finally get out of there and go home when there was the sound of high pitched screaming emanating from down the hallway of the flat. Everyone's gaze turned toward the direction of the sound but it was John who was already running toward the room, followed closely by Mary. The scream came from the direction Sherlock went and John was certain that the two events were linked. While most people acted concerned but were afraid of actually intervening, John was the opposite; he somewhat thrived on it.

John followed the sound of the screaming to the last room in the hallway, bursting through the door, thankful that it wasn't locked. He stopped for a moment as he took in the strange sight in front of him. The screaming was coming from a terrified looking woman cowering on the bed while the man who was dressed as a ninja stood at the foot of the bed, trying to wrestle Sherlock off of his back where Sherlock was hanging onto him, trying to bring him down; John was reminded of the time they had tried to catch the Golem. John was sure that Sherlock would be able to deduce many things from the scene but all John could determine at the strange sight was that the man Sherlock had been following was obviously of dubious nature and had attacked the poor woman.

Before John could step in to act, the ninja (whose costume seemed pretty appropriate now) managed to throw Sherlock off of him and against the wall. The man made a swift move to climb out the window but John went to where Sherlock had cracked loudly against the wall. Mary had already moved to attend to the poor crying woman on the bed as John knelt down on the floor to see if Sherlock was alright.

Sherlock was rubbing the back of his head, squinting but he was already making a move to get up. "Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked, feeling a wave of concern wash over him. He was always concerned when Sherlock was hurt but he did feel it more keenly now that he had allowed himself to care about him in a deeper way.

"I'm fine…..I'm fine!" Sherlock said urgently, getting up and pushing past John toward the window. "Come on, we can't let him get away! Mary" he said, pointing to her, "Take good care of her. We will meet you back at home!"

Without another word, Sherlock dove out the window in pursuit of the man. John was glad to see that the drop wasn't that far but dismayed to see that it was far enough that he had to use the dumpster to break his fall; Sherlock was already crawling out of the open dumpster. Wondering how this was his life and simultaneously thankful that it was, John crawled out of the window and fell into the dumpster. Glad to get out as fast as he could, John climbed over the edge of the dumpster and followed Sherlock in pursuit of the ninja.

"You going to tell me what's going on?" John asked between heavy breaths as he struggled to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. "Enlighten me to how you possibly caught a criminal at a Halloween party"

Sherlock, despite the madness of the situation, smiled. "I had ample time to watch people and judge their actions while you and Mary whiled away the time with small talk. I observed this man on no less than five occasions in less than twenty minuets be mildly abusive to his girlfriend. This caused me to watch him and when I saw him put something into the drink that he made her I knew his aim was to assault the poor woman."

It was so…..unlike Sherlock. It wasn't that Sherlock was uncaring or that he turned a blind eye to trouble; he simply didn't notice many problems unless they were especially entertaining. John had never seen him intervene in so 'normal' a problem. John hesitated to call attempted rape a normal problem but compared to their usual cases it was. Anything that wasn't a disgusting multiple homicide was 'normal'.

"I'm surprised you caught it" John observed, feeling completely winded but completely alive. They were closing in on the man now and though that should have made John a little terrified since they had no weapons and the man was significantly larger than they, he just felt exhilarated.

Sherlock gave him a sly glance. "What you mean is you are surprised I got involved" he said knowingly.

John smiled guiltily, caught. "It's just not your usual business" he observed.

"I admit I kept thinking what if that woman was Mary, how would I feel?" Sherlock said.

It might not have sounded like an earth shattering thing for most people but for Sherlock to show empathy was still shocking to John. He'd lived for so long believing that Sherlock didn't even care for him much less anyone else so seeing him connect mentally his own feelings with a complete stranger's was strangely enlightening. In a moment John's respect for Sherlock had increased exponentially. John didn't have a doubt in his mind that Sherlock would step in to save Mary's life in a heartbeat. He couldn't help but feel touched.

Sherlock, always five steps ahead, rolled his eyes. "Of course I would not hesitate to save you or Mary from certain danger. Don't get emotional now, John; we have a rapist to catch."

John smiled. "I'm not emotional" he lied propelling himself forward, finding it nearly impossible to resist the urge to hug Sherlock.

….

Mary didn't like to wait around, especially when it was her waiting at home for Sherlock and John to come back home from a case. She knew it was necessary now; she couldn't very well put herself into any dangerous situations when she had a baby counting on her to not be stupid. But that didn't mean it was easy to do; waiting around could be torture. Sherlock and John seemed to get a high off the adrenaline rush of danger and Mary seemed to find these days that she derived a high simply from seeing them alive and well.

Mary had attended to Katherine, the woman at the party who had nearly been attacked. As Sherlock and John had dove out the window in pursuit of the man who had attacked her, Katherine had positively broken down in Mary's arms as she had tried to assess if she was alright. She had admitted that her boyfriend, Rick, had been abusive on many occasions and had become more and more aggressive sexually. When he had tried to get her to have a drink, obviously laced, Katherine had refused and Rick had tried to attack her. Sherlock, who had somehow been hiding under the bed, sprung out and tried to pull Rick off of her. While Katherine had been fine physically, she was hysterical and obviously in some emotional distress; Mary had accompanied her to the hospital and made sure the staff knew of her situation so that she could get the proper help. Mary assured Katherine that Sherlock and John would find Rick and make sure he was notified to the police; she didn't have a single doubt they would be successful.

Now, pushing well past three in the morning, Mary was exhausted but she couldn't go to sleep until she knew they were back and well. She was relieved when she heard the sound of their collective heavy footsteps and lively voices as they clumped up the stairs.

"You looked like some sort of monkey hanging off of him" Sherlock was saying, laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. His cape was singed and his hair was wild but he looked otherwise alive.

John gave him a punch on the arm, hard enough that Sherlock swayed a bit but he was still laughing. "I did the same thing you did when I found you; you're just upset that I was able to bring him down when you weren't able to"

"Yes, yes, sure that is it" Sherlock said with high sarcasm. He sucker punched John on the arm even harder, causing him to fall into the floor before he regained himself.

"Ah, so I take it that the evening went well?" Mary asked with a smile as Sherlock and John fell onto the couch. She fell into the small space between them, making them admit her.

"Yes, all thanks to me" John said, puffing himself up a bit, wrapping an arm around Mary's shoulders and pulling her close. She laid her head on his shoulder and put her feet on Sherlock's lap; she knew he hated feet but he didn't make any move to get away.

"Ah, yes, you did all of the work" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"I think I did pretty well considering he was at least a foot taller than me" John said.

"You beat that monster? Oh…my big strong solider man" Mary said dramatically, rubbing John's arms. John flushed under the ego boost. Sherlock's mouth fell open, offended; Mary loved it just a little bit.

"Hey! If it wasn't for me there would have been no saving at all!" Sherlock said hotly. "I was the one that noticed the signs. I was the one that lay in wait and intervened. If I hadn't stepped in, think of the tragedy that would have ensued!"

Sherlock was clearly fishing for a compliment and though Mary shouldn't have enjoyed pitting the boys against each other, she did. Besides, they both had a point; Katherine would have likely been assaulted if Sherlock hadn't noticed what was going on but it sounded like John was the reason he was caught. They both had done essential parts, as she knew was always the case; it was the reason they worked so well together.

Mary kept one arm wrapped around John's while she used the other to pat Sherlock's arm. "Of course, Sherlock; you were absolutely brilliant. What a fortunate thing that you were there to save the day…..both of you."

Sherlock looked pleased, closing his eyes and leaning on heard her. "See, John; everyone needs me" he said smugly.

"I don't" John said, just as smugly, his head falling back tiredly.

"Yes, you do" Sherlock taunted. "Even Mary would agree"

"I would have to agree with Sherlock, yes" Mary said.

"Oh whatever…"John said, huffing but too tired to really argue much.

"I don't know about you two but I think we can put this little battle on hold until tomorrow" Mary said. "I think its bed time for everyone."

"Sounds good to me" John said, slowly getting off the couch and making his way toward their bedroom.

"I think I must get out of this ridiculous ensemble before I contemplate sleep" Sherlock said, already rubbing at his face to get off the makeup.

"You know where to find us when you're done" Mary said, taking John's hand and walking to their room. Sherlock smiled and nodded before he walked toward the bathroom. Mary still couldn't believe how easy things were between them now; even though there were plenty of barriers to their relationship, at least the sleeping was easy. How it hadn't become complicated already, Mary didn't know but she was relieved.

When Mary went into the bedroom John was already undoing the laces on his boots and taking them off. She had seen clearly how much Sherlock had enjoyed John's solider look; she couldn't deny that she had equally enjoyed it. Mary felt a sudden burst of heat throughout her, making her aware that she and John hadn't been as intimate as they normally would have. This was a period of adjustment right now Mary knew, what with adding Sherlock to the mix; there wasn't a precedent to it and Mary wanted to make sure that Sherlock didn't feel left out. But with John sitting on the bed, clad in his army uniform with all of the implications that that brought Mary couldn't help but think back to how forceful John had been with her the time they had been on the couch with Sherlock. She thoroughly enjoyed being the dominate one in the relationship but she couldn't deny that there had been definite appeal to John's being rough. And rough was a gentle word really; he could be downright harsh if she enticed him enough to it.

Before John could make any move to take off anymore of his uniform, Mary moved to stand between John's legs, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You really ought to wear this more often." Mary said, running her hand through John's hair appreciatively.

John looked up and smiled at her. "Ah…well, why would that be?" he asked slyly, his hands moving up and down her sides, making her shiver.

"Don't you know, Captain?" Mary asked, giving him an obvious once over.

"Captain, huh? At least you have manners, even if you are very devilish" John said, moving Mary's dress aside slightly and kissing the top of her breast, making her shudder.

"Manners? I don't have manners; I have cheek" Mary teased, her voice catching as John continued to kiss lower. Her fingers dug into his back and his came around to grab her bum under the small dress.

"Then I guess I'll have to put you in your place, wont I?" John asked with pleasure, catching Mary's nipple in his mouth for a second, making her gasp before capturing her mouth with his.

John was kissing her deeply, pulling the straps of her dress down so that it fell low on her, barely caught by her breasts to keep it from falling down and she was already sitting on his lap, deepening the kiss as she grabbed fists of his hair until she could hear him whimper slightly at the touch. Mary's mind replayed the evening, John's costume burned into her brain, her pride at him at work combined with the whole 'tough solider' image, along with the fact that it had just felt bloody so long that she felt it burning through her like a fire. Mary would bemoan the loss of the uniform but that didn't mean she could resist the temptation to take it off either. Mary's fingers were having trouble in their haste to undo the buttons but that didn't deter her from working on it until she had gotten the jacket off and exposed John's chest. Her fingers ran along it, scrapping and scratching gently sometimes, harder at other times, all to hear that wonderful whimpering sound again. John's tongue was pushing hers, fighting it and Mary let it as she began to grind against Johns lap, feeling that John was growing just as aroused as she already was.

Mary jumped slightly when she opened her eyes and saw Sherlock sneaking into the room, tiptoeing so as to be as quiet as he could. She quickly regained herself, kissing along John's shoulder as she continued to move against his lap, one eye on Sherlock. She had forgotten that he was coming back and that she shouldn't have gotten this whole thing started but she felt beyond stopping it now; or at least beyond wanting to stop it. Sherlock certainly didn't seem like he was any position for wanting them to stop. She could see that dark glare in his eye that she only ever saw when he looked at John as he climbed up onto the bed behind John. Mary watched with batted breath as Sherlock put his hands on John's hips and leaned down to kiss his neck. John's breath caught and for a moment, Mary was afraid he would make Sherlock stop; Mary didn't remotely know how this was going to end but she knew she definitely wanted to see. Mary breathed easy again when John threw his head back, making his neck more open, a needy moan escaping his mouth, one hand kept firmly on Mary's bum while the other grabbed the back of Sherlock's head as if he didn't want Sherlock going anywhere. Mary kept kissing and nipping at John's shoulder as Sherlock continued his ministrations on John's neck. John was whimpering and withering under their touch; Mary would occasionally catch Sherlock's eye, matching her speed and roughness with his so they had John coming undone underneath them.

Mary had no trouble speeding up the grinding against John's lap; she couldn't recall when she had been this aroused. If seeing John come undone not only from her but watching him disintegrated under Sherlock's hot touch wasn't the sexiest thing she had ever seen she couldn't imagine what would be.

…..

John was a mess but a mess in the most delicious, delightful way. Few things could make him feel needy, make him feel out of control; Mary had always done that with ease and he was quickly finding that Sherlock also had that talent as well.

Mary had been driving him insane all night and so he wasn't surprised that he had hardly any control at all when she came to him. She looked so beautiful and every touch she gave him felt magnified; it was overwhelming and need sprung up inside of him like he couldn't control. He hadn't been thinking about anything, just feeling each and every sway of Mary against his lap and the feel of her mouth on his or against his skin. John hadn't even known Sherlock came into the room until his mouth was on John's neck, making him come undone. That mouth had always been able to do spectacular things; Sherlock could spout off a monologue that no one else was capable of understanding or use words to bring awe or in most cases irritations. His tongue did not prove any less excellent when it came to kissing.

John had never had the pleasure of having the attentions of two people lavished on him at once. Despite the fantasy of a threesome that had never actually played out for him in his real life; he would have been shocked even a short time ago that when the prospect did present itself, he'd not be with two women as he'd always dreamed. He'd have guessed even less the depth of care that he had for the two people who were now very thoroughly kissing him.

John was on fire; he felt every nerve in his body tuned to touch and pleasure and want. Mary had already had him completely aroused when he felt Sherlock come up behind him. For the briefest moment he'd been frightened; he's almost pushed Sherlock away. But when that filthy, brilliant mouth touched his skin, it was all over. Mary and Sherlock's hands were all over his chest and back and their mouths were all over his shoulders and his neck; when Mary kissed him full on the mouth, Sherlock biting at his neck, he felt himself go completely weak. He fell backwards, caught by Sherlock's body but it wasn't a moment before they were all falling backwards onto the bed with him delightfully sandwiched between Mary and Sherlock.

John was painfully aroused but at the same time he wasn't in a hurry to rush past this kissing either. Sometimes, kissing was merely a first act to the real event, a mere preview but sometimes it could be as good as the main events itself and this felt like one of those times. There was so much to absorb and feel at the same time that he revealed in it. Mary's mouth was consuming him in a way that he was sure she never had before. Her nails dug into his bare skin on his chest and sides as she pulled him toward her and kissed him like it was the first time, like she was drowning and he was saving her. At the same time, Sherlock's hands were all over his body, touching his back and shoulders, his arms and neck and running through his hair; John wondered for a moment if it was everything that Sherlock had imagined it would be; with as long as Sherlock claimed he had loved him, no doubt he'd pictured it before. That insecurity didn't last long; Sherlock's fingers ran over him like he was a piece of art to be appreciated and there was no way he'd felt better about his body than he did at this moment. There were times in his life he had been skinnier, more muscular, more in shape; but this was the time that he had two people who wanted him and who could argue with that?

When Mary finally pulled back from him, they were both panting, looking delightfully flushed. John only had a few moments to catch his breath before there were hands on his head, pulling him the other way and kissing him deeply. John jumped slightly as he always seemed to do when Sherlock kissed him; it was so new. But he gave in quickly; the way Sherlock kissed made it nearly impossible not to. Sherlock had shed his vampire garb of the night and was surprisingly just wearing a t-shirt and pants; John was also surprised to see that his underwear was just ordinary briefs. For some reason, with as fancy as Sherlock dressed, John thought he must wear something silky or fancy; John felt sure that he liked this better. John felt ridiculous but it made Sherlock seem more….. _male?_ John didn't know why that was something to get excited about he definitely was excited.

Sherlock's hands were on either side of John's face, anchoring him as he kissed him. John enjoyed it; it was like a gentle, caring touch to a kiss that felt like an explosion. John would have been gasping Sherlock's name but the mouth so much covering his own and the tongue so tightly knit around his made it possible to only moan into Sherlock's mouth. His hands wound around Sherlock's back, holding him close; suddenly he wished Sherlock's back and chest were bare so he could feel it against his. That sudden wish mildly terrified John. A shudder went through his whole body when Mary's hand gently undid his zipper and worked her hand inside. It was a terribly restrictive touch but he was tightly wound it was almost enough to send him over the edge.

Mary didn't let the kiss go on long before she was pulling him back toward her. This…this was fantastic. John felt desired and fought over; it was a vain delight maybe but one John doubted few people could deny having. Mary and Sherlock kissed in very different ways but their passion was unguarded tonight and made them more similar; they were both fevered.

When John felt Mary slide off her knickers under her short dress, John wasn't surprised; his fingers instantly sought out for her, feeling a rush of wetness around his fingers. Mary gasped against him and instantly pressed herself closer to him. The only thing that prevented him from pushing himself into her wet heat was the construction of his clothing which seemed so daunting in the moment to remove. Sherlock was not hampered by such confines; John could feel his erection against his bum clearly through the slight fabric of his underwear and it only ignited his need.

It was a natural extension when Mary's hands finally went to undo his belt to remove his trousers. It should have been a relief; he felt like he was going to explode quite literally. But it wasn't a relief; suddenly John felt a wave of panic run though him. He tried to push it down and make it go away as Mary began to work his trousers off him but he couldn't make it go away; it only got worse. John was so filled with want and need it made no sense to him why he should feel afraid but in that moment he was. His clothes coming off was really the only barrier left; it was obvious this event was not going to end with just kissing like it had started. He was aroused and he definitely wanted to have sex, even painfully so. He wanted to do it with Mary and he wanted to do it with Sherlock but still he hesitated. Things had been so good with them ever since the argument that had started this all and John knew if they continued things would change. John wasn't sure he was ready for it. It could be great or it could ruin things. John felt terrible because he felt he had encouraged this but he couldn't do it.

"Stop…wait please" John called out, the first words spoken in what felt like forever.

To their credit, Mary and Sherlock stopped immediately. They looked as painfully needy as he was but there was also a note of concern. John didn't know if he had ever felt as embarrassed as he did in that moment, trying and falling to zip up his trousers again as he lay on his back and looked back up at them. "I'm sorry…I don't think I'm ready. Not for all of it. I'm sorry" John said, thoroughly embarrassed. He couldn't even look at Sherlock. It would be obvious to him what the problem was. Obviously, if had been he and Mary they have already been well through it. Adding Sherlock to the mix still made John apprehensive He was kidding himself at this point; it was obvious that he wanted to be with Sherlock. But he still couldn't make himself commit; he didn't really know why.

Mary squeezed his arm beside him; when John glanced at him she was giving him a warm smile. "That's okay, sweetheart; you don't have to apologize. The last thing we want to do is make you uncomfortable." Mary said genuinely.

She wasn't angry and she meant what she said but John didn't feel any better. He wanted to do it; really he did. So why couldn't he? Maybe it was too early; they had only really been exploring their boundaries for a few weeks. John sure hoped that was all it was; Mary and Sherlock obviously didn't have the reservations that he seemed to have.

Sherlock's response was much later. "Of course, John. It's okay; don't feel bad." His voice wasn't angry either and though Sherlock was pretty good at disguising it, John could hear the hurt under the surface. He knew the problem lied with him and it hurt his feelings, justifiably.

But John did feel bad. The arousal and lack of release from him left him physically uncomfortable and his uncomfortableness with the situation made things awkward. Painful silence drug on for what felt like forever before Sherlock spoke again.

"Maybe I should….go" Sherlock said hesitantly.

"No, please don't" John said quickly. He still couldn't force himself to look at Sherlock but he found his hand with his own, lying against the covers. John was relieved when Sherlock squeezed his hand back.

"Okay, I'll stay" Sherlock agreed but the awkwardness still prevailed. Sherlock turned over on his side, away from them as Mary and John changed into their pyjamas for bed. When they went to get into bed, Mary took the spot in the middle, further proving that she felt the awkwardness between them and made a move to keep it from being that way. John took the spot on the edge, feeling miserable.

"John…..are you alright?" Mary's voice was quiet and troubled in the dark as John tried to go to sleep. John sincerely hoped that Sherlock was already sleeping but he had no way of knowing since Sherlock's back was to him.

"No I'm not alright" John said honestly, low enough that he hoped that Sherlock wouldn't be able to hear him even if he was awake. "What's wrong with me?"

"There isn't anything wrong with you" Mary assured him, pressing her forehead against his and rubbing his cheek comfortingly. "This is a lot to adjust to; we won't do anything until you're ready to."

"You and Sherlock don't seem to have any problems" John said bitterly. "It's just me."

"Of course we all see this differently; that's okay." Mary said.

It wasn't okay; it really wasn't but John didn't want to say that. "I wanted to, really I did" John whispered. "I just….."

"I know" Mary said, moving so that John's head was against her chest, warm and soothing. Somehow, he felt she really did know; she knew that somehow he was simultaneously torn between strong desire and paralyzing fear when it came to being with Sherlock even though it made no sense at all to him.


	20. Chapter 20

_Sherlock dreamed he was imprisoned again that night. He hadn't dreamt of that for what seemed like forever; he hadn't had those unpleasant dreams since Mary and John had come to live with him. But that night, just like all the rest, he could feel the fear and panic so keen in his mind that he could feel his heart racing and his breath labored on the outside, trapped inside. He was chained, he was beaten; he could feel every wound on his back with a fresh wave of pain. He felt so much pain that it was like pain was all that existed. When it subsided, it was only replaced with other ills. Dehydration made him slow and sick; he couldn't recall when he had last eaten and he was so fatigued that he wanted to give in to tears. He knew he had had to do all of this; he had to make sure that all of Moriarty's men were gone for good. But that seemed so far away now; his misery was all he could see. He felt hopeless and that wasn't a good place to be; hope was probably all keeping him going at this point. But he didn't feel any now; he didn't feel he would ever get out of here; he didn't feel he would ever see John again._

 _But this dream wasn't like the others in the sense that it didn't end with him drowning in his pain and memories. As he lay agonizing on the floor of some dirty cell, suddenly the door was thrown open and a figure was silhouetted in the outside light._

 _John…it couldn't be but it was. Standing in the doorway, clad in his army uniform and looking all the part of a rescuer, was John. He looked so strong and certain; somehow he had come for him. Sherlock had gone to every length to make sure that John didn't know he was alive but somehow he had not only figured it out but he had found him. It was impossible and yet here he was._

 _"_ _John…how did you find me?" Sherlock croaked out in a raspy, unused voice._

 _"_ _I knew you were lying" John said, his voice deep and commanding, "I knew you were never a fraud; something had to be wrong. I searched everywhere until I found you."_

 _"_ _But how?" Sherlock asked in awe. John was so often in awe of him, Sherlock was surprised at how it felt to have their roles reversed._

 _"_ _That's not important" John insisted, stepping forward and extending a hand, "All that is important is that you are safe now."_

 _Sherlock just believed him; with a shaky arm, Sherlock reached out for the extended hand and John pulled him up and into his arms, strong and certain as he whisked him away from danger._

Sherlock was breathing heavily when he woke from the dream, sitting up and looking around the room. For a moment the dream had seemed so real he expected to still be in a cold, dark cell and was relieved to see that wasn't the case. He was in his own room, safe and sound and in 221B. And he wasn't alone; the man and woman sleeping beside him taking up all of the bed and covers reminded him of that.

It took what felt like forever for Sherlock's breath and heart to calm. The dream had been terrifying except for the part about John which had actually been lovely. He was sure that his subconscious had conjured that up because of John's costume that night and how it had made Sherlock remember the times he wished John could come and save him and how painful it was knowing that would never happen.

But he was okay now; more than okay. He was back in London, Moriarty was gone and he was with two people who cared about him enough to let him in relationship and lives. Mary slept soundly next to him, her small rounded belly lying close to his own. Spooned against her was John, his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her close to him. It made Sherlock afraid for a moment; what if this all didn't work? What if John wanted things to go back to just being him and Mary? Sherlock didn't think he could bear it though he wouldn't tell John that.

That night had scared Sherlock and he still felt the crawling fingers of fear around his heart. He didn't care about the sex. Well, to be fair he did care about it; he'd be crazy not to. But it wasn't the fact that John didn't want to have sex with him that made him fearful; it was the fear he saw in John's face when he thought that was going to happen. Sherlock never wanted to push John because he was afraid eventually it would be too much for him. All the signs had told Sherlock that John was okay and was actually very willing in the moment but it had all came screeching to a halt. Sherlock was terrified John would pull away. It was always the reason that he had never felt the need to express deepening feelings for John; it was better to be his friend than to be his nothing.

Calming and quickly growing tired again, Sherlock lay back against the bed, facing Mary. Every time Mary breathed, he could feel her pregnant belly barely graze his own belly which ironically was bigger than it had ever been before; damn all the good food Mary and John made. Contrary to what John had thought for years, Sherlock didn't intentionally starve himself he just never paid much attention to food which was why he could go days without it when he was engaged with something else. But he had struggled with eating problems when he was younger and as the pounds crept slowly up Sherlock felt that old panic creep in and tell him he was getting fat. He knew logically that he wasn't fat; he was only now probably getting to what was a healthy weight but logic had never played into his eating problems. But he found the strength to push away those thoughts this time and keep eating because he had something he hadn't had as a youth; John and Mary. They wanted him to stay healthy and take care of himself and so he focused on that when it got hard to swallow down something really good to eat and knowing full well how many calories it had in it.

Sherlock was reminded himself of this fact as he looked down at his stomach now and felt overly self-conscious, sure that it had something to do with the evening's events. He knew it wasn't logical but it was odd how illogical it could be when he came to how he felt about John or Mary.

Pushing aside a wave of troubling thoughts, Sherlock focused on Mary's stomach instead of his own. It was amazing to imagine that only a small layer of skin separated him from the small baby inside of Mary's stomach and he couldn't resist the urge to put his hand on her belly and imagine things about the baby.

It was strange even to consider it a baby. Sherlock had always believed a fetus was just that; not a person, not a baby but a not yet formed being. He had never been pro-life and he always found it irritatingly ignorant when people referred to fetuses as people. But with Mary and John's baby he couldn't help but think of it as a person already. Odd…..maybe having a personal connection with a fetus made you feel that it was actually a person. Sherlock certainly did. He would find himself at the strangest times thinking about what the little girl who was half Mary and half John would be like. And quite a person she would be, he imagined; beautiful eyes like John's, pretty blonde hair like Mary's…she would be short of course with who her parents were but who would care? She would be beautiful; how could she not be when she was the sum of Mary and John? She would have John's sensitivity and affections and Mary's intelligence; she would be quite a force to be reckoned with.

Sherlock was pondering all of this when he felt something move against his hand. He jumped slightly but when he saw that Mary hadn't moved, he put his hand back against Mary's stomach. A moment later he jumped again; there it was again! Sherlock had to run through memories he had stored from the pregnancy books he had read for a moment before he could make sense of it. The baby was kicking! Sherlock felt excitement run through him in a way that he didn't expect every time he could feel the baby's foot kick against his hand; there really was a small little person inside Mary and he could feel her moving.

Without a second thought, Sherlock shook Mary and John roughly, rousing them. "Wake up! Wake up!" he called out as Mary and John's eyes opened and stared at him hazily.

"Sherlock…what's wrong?" Mary asked, slightly concerned that Sherlock seemed so urgent. John, who was used to Sherlock waking him up for minor things for years, just muttered, "Sherlock' slightly irritable.

"The baby! The baby kicked and I felt it!" Sherlock nearly yelled, his eyes wide with excitement, hands rubbing Mary's belly as he waited for the baby to kick again.

Mary and John's whole expressions changed; he could see their excitement blossom on their face. "What? Really?" John burst out, sitting up and moving so that he could put his hand on Mary's stomach next to Sherlock's

"I haven't even felt her kick yet!" Mary exclaimed, sitting up in anticipation of a kick.

"She's being quite active at the moment; just wait for it!" Sherlock enthused, overly pleased that he was the first to feel her kick. He wasn't mummy or daddy so it was nice to get something at least….

There it was again! There was a collective gasp and laughing at the feel of the baby's kick against Mary's stomach.

"Oh my god…..she really is kicking! This is so strange" Mary said, awe clear on her face.

"I can't believe it" John said, his fingers brushing against Sherlock's as he felt the kick of his child. "It's amazing…"

"It really is" Sherlock said, surprised at just how much be believe that it really was. He couldn't believe that such a short time ago, he was lying there worrying and now he was connected to the two people he loved by the third person he was already coming to love. As they were joined in that moment, Sherlock felt it was foolish to be so fearful that he would be separated from them. No matter the state of their physical relationship, there was already something between the three of them that none of them could possibly sever. They were already so knit together that they couldn't possibly unravel and Sherlock had never been happier than he was at that revelation. He was Mary and John's and they were his.

…..

Things turned busy and a bit crazy for John as Halloween gave way into November but John was pleased; crazy and busy with him always meant good things so he was content. He had given up his job at the surgery completely now; cases with Sherlock were steady. They had so much business now that they often had to turn people down. Sherlock was alright with this; he would occasionally scowl as people spouted off their problem, mutter 'Boring' before stalking out of the room and John would apologize and try to explain they were simply too busy at the moment to take another case.

Now that the baby had given her first kick, it seemed that she moved all of the time. Mary's pregnancy was progressing more each day and John found himself simultaneously nervous and excited. They went on shopping trips often; sometimes he and Mary and sometimes the three of them. Surely they had nearly all the things they needed by now, piled up in what used to be John's old room. These days, he hardly ever used it and it seemed everyone silently agreed that it would one day be the baby's nursery.

John was relieved things between him and Sherlock and Mary seemed as easy as before despite the mix up on Halloween. They still all slept in the same bed together and it was really the only time he and Sherlock were affectionate with each other. They would kiss or hold each other sometimes but there seemed to be that unspoken agreement that they wouldn't let anything go further. While they were on cases they were in work mode and their budding romance was far from each of their minds. For now John was glad; he wasn't sure he could take the questions of the other people at the Yard if they found out. He was glad that no one was as perceptive as Sherlock was.

Half way through the month, Mary was scheduled to attend a conference for work and had to travel for a weekend. It was the first time he and Mary had been separated since their marriage and with her growing pregnancy, John didn't want her to go. He'd given her multiple excuses to stay home but she just smiled and told him he was worrying too much and that she would be fine.

"I don't think anyone would blame you if you stayed home…..you know, in your condition" John said the morning that Mary left. He was carrying her bags out to the cab in the frigid cold but he still was giving her an out.

"I love you sweetie but if you say 'in your condition' again, I'll have to hurt you" Mary said playfully, giving him a goodbye kiss.

"Alright…I guess you're right" John said, kissing her back and giving up. "Just take care; both of you" He rubbed Mary's stomach affectionately. "I'll see you on Monday."

John and Sherlock were deep into a case that weekend so Mary's absence wasn't as painful as John had anticipated it would be. While on a case it was hard to pay attention to little else. It wasn't until Sunday and the horrible early winter snow storm that slammed the city that John began to worry about it again. When Monday came around to find them under more snow than John had ever seen, he wasn't surprised when Mary's flight was cancelled. He wished her well on a call between seeing witnesses with Sherlock but she more worried about him.

"Don't worry about me" Mary assured him. "I'm in a nice hotel room that the airline is paying for with unlimited time to watch movies and room service. You're the one that's out in the thick of this snow, catching a murderer"

"You know us…it's all in a day's job" John had joked. And it was all in a day's work but that didn't mean that it was going to end well. And this time was one of the times that it didn't end well.

Monday saw things all well; John and Sherlock interviewed witness and suspects to the murder of a young woman. Sherlock knew he was close; the solution was on the tip of his mind. John was sure that Sherlock would indeed figure it out; he always did and John saw no reason to doubt him now. John always trusted him; even when things seemed beyond a reasonable person's trust.

By Tuesday night, most people would have given up hope. John, even, was waning, but he still was sure that Sherlock would come through. It didn't matter that they had been kidnapped by the murderer and were chained up in some tiny, cold room in god knows where; Sherlock would figure it out. But that didn't stop John from thinking about Mary; thinking about Mary and their baby and hoping he'd be there to see her born. No…he _would_ be there, he was sure. But Sherlock had to think of something soon.

John and Sherlock were lying on a cold, stone floor, hands chained behind them, legs tied up and tied together. John's back was to Sherlock and it strained his neck to turn it around and look at him. Sherlock was curled up on himself, trying to soak up heat; John could see the small ice crystals on the ends of his curls and John couldn't help but think he looked beautiful. John's mind was slow and muddled and he couldn't acknowledge the cold was getting to him.

John curled up, his muscles aching and stiff from cold and shivering. He could see his breath like a cloud in front of him and his teeth clattered together painfully. "You've got an idea, right?" John asked, his voice echoing against the metal in the walls of their confinement.

Sherlock didn't answer for a long time; John almost thought he was asleep. John moved back so that his back touched Sherlock's, soaking up some measure of heat from their combined bodies. "I have no less than three…"Sherlock said, his voice wavering.

"Want to clue me in?" John asked.

Sherlock took even longer in answering. "Let's save our energy and not talk" he said eventually.

When he answered, John was already half asleep.

…..

This was bad; things had been bad before but never quite like this. They had been kidnapped before, he and John. Sherlock had always found a way out and he had to now but it was hard to do when dehydration and hypothermia were setting in and making it hard to think. A rumble of irrational fear cut through him and he got flashbacks from his time in Serbia. He was glad that his back was to John and he couldn't see when he squeezed his eyes shut and bit into the collar of his coat, trying to convince himself this was completely different.

Sherlock fell asleep and dreamed of John in his uniform again. He kept dreaming John is coming to save him from danger but when he woke up in the cold cell with John, he realized it's his job to save John this time. Sherlock nudged John and when he didn't wake up, he realized that it was his job to save John and he had to think of something quick.

….

John was lost in his head; it was alright because he wasn't cold anymore. He imagined Mary holding a beautiful baby girl, one with a small tooth smile and bunches of blonde hair. He doesn't know what to call her…..they never decided on a name yet. Mary's favorites were Isabella and Lily but John's favorites were Savannah and Paige. Sherlock had to be strange and argumentative and claim those were all unoriginal and say they should name her something like Rain or Stormy; John had called him a hippie and Sherlock had flipped him off.

John forgot about the name and just focused on how beautiful Mary and the baby look together. He missed Mary so much; what he wouldn't give to feel her lips on his and her hands on his frigid body. He imagined that he was holding his daughter; she felt so perfect in his arms and he knew he'd do anything to keep her safe. If only he was there for her….

Sherlock held his hand and it was warm and safe but when he thinks about it too much, it vanishes. He tried to tell Sherlock he loves him and that he needs him. But all that comes out is, "Save us"

….

John was in a bad way and Sherlock knew it despite the fact that he was bad off too. His mind struggled to figure out a way to help them and he finally thought that he had it but he had to wait for their captors to come back to spring on it. John was delirious and Sherlock knew he must have a fever and god knows what kind of a virus or infection. He muttered words occasionally in his sleep, most of them incoherent but occasionally Sherlock will hear him say, "Save us". Sherlock's heart felt like it was breaking inside his chest; what a feeling that was too. He was so emotionally attached to John that he felt like failing him might kill him. Well, failing John will kill him because if he doesn't save them, John will die and Sherlock would die along with him. Then, what would happen? To Mary? To the baby?

Sherlock waited for the right moment to act; he was just desperate enough to believe that it will work.

…..

John felt like he was flying; there were rushes of air and hands on him and then he felt warm. He heard loud noises and then there was silence; there was alternating periods of silence and loudness. John knew he was trying to wake up but it felt like a wall prevented him from waking. He felt tired and gave into the sensation of fatigue.

When John finally woke up enough to be coherent, he was in the hospital. His eyes were instantly assaulted by the bright florescent lights and the cold, sterile air. He opened his eyes and blinked several times, looking around.

Despite the IVs in his arm and the slightly shaky feeling in his head, John felt relatively well. John's mind was a blank; all he could remember was being chained up in that cold room with Sherlock and then he woke up here. John's mind struggled to come up with more but he couldn't.

"Ah…..you're finally awake. Glad to see your fever has broken" John nearly jumped out of his bed when he heard Sherlock's voice so close to him. Whipping his head around he saw Sherlock sitting in the bed next to him, already half dressed in his street clothes. He had gotten into his shirt and trousers but he looked more worse for wear than John. Cuts and scrapes dotted Sherlock's face and John couldn't recall how he'd gotten them.

"My fever?" John asked, sitting up, pulling himself so that he could swing his legs over the side of the bed.

"Yes, you had a terrible fever" Sherlock said, "In addition to the hypothermia. Luckily, they gave you a high dose of antibiotics and you seem to be right as rain now."

Sherlock seemed so upbeat it alarmed John; he'd even said 'right as rain' for Christ's sake. "I don't remember anything" John said, worried he had missed something of importance. Sherlock's movements were ginger but he tried to cover it up as he put his coat on and tossed John's clothes on his bed, obviously eager to get home.

"That would be to be expected with a fever of that nature" Sherlock said. "You were delirious most of the time."

"Oh god…..I didn't act like a total nutter, did I?" John asked, grimacing. What if he was spouting all of his innermost thoughts and secrets? Of course, Sherlock probably already knew them but still…

"Your brain was nearly fried by a fever and you're worried you said something embarrassing?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.

"Well…..I was just checking" John said, flushing embarrassed.

"No, you didn't say anything embarrassing" Sherlock said. "But if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get out of here. We can continue this conversation at home."

 _At home…_ 221B; that sounded good. "Okay" he said, working his shirt over his head and sliding his jeans on under the gown, dismayed to see that his underwear was magically gone. "What day is it?" he asked, his head pounding lightly and wondering how long he had been out.

"Thursday but it feels like it's been a week" Sherlock said.

"Has Mary been able to get a flight home yet?" John asked. He suddenly, desperately needed to see her.

"I spoke to her this morning and she said that she will be getting home tomorrow morning. I was purposefully vague about your condition." Sherlock said. When John struggled to get into his jumper, his shoulder particularly stiff, Sherlock rushed forward to help him, a wince of pain on his face as he moved so quickly. When Sherlock had helped him into the shirt, he backed away but only enough that their faces were inches apart. John felt a flush of warmth go through him; he felt like kissing Sherlock. Though he knew he was allowed now, something still stopped him. There was pain and fear in Sherlock's eyes like John had never seen before.

"What did you do to get us out, Sherlock?" John asked, his eyes trailing from Sherlock's lips to the cuts on his face.

Sherlock looked vulnerable for a moment but covered it quickly. "My usual brilliance" Sherlock said vaguely, smiling and moving away from John conspicuously.

John wasn't buying it. "Sherlock…..really…..what did you do?" John insisted. He could see the flicker of fear as Sherlock looked from John down to the floor. John wanted to comfort him but somehow he knew that wouldn't be appreciated at the moment.

"You were clearly very ill and I was becoming so as well; I had to get us out" Sherlock said. "I knew our captives would be only too willing to try and get some information out of us about how we tracked them so I told them I would talk to them. I knew, of course, that they would like to inflict pain to get this information even though I was willing to give it to them. That was irreverent. As I faked a crying fit, I managed to swipe a mobile from one of their pockets and dial the police before tossing it out of their view. Thank god for GSP tracking; I learned that little crying trick from Mrs. Hudson, very effective"

John felt a knot of worry in his stomach as he looked at Sherlock. He said it all so glibly but John knew it bothered him. He had willingly let himself be tortured so that he could save John; John felt a lump in his throat and quickly looked at the floor. "Sherlock…..I can't believe you did that" he said, his voice full of emotion.

"Don't make it more than it is, John" Sherlock said gruffly. "I needed to save our lives; I did what I had to. Besides, I'm used to being beat"

It didn't make John feel better; emotion hung in the air between them. Sherlock said it as joke but somehow, John knew that it wasn't a joke. Sherlock _did_ know what it was like to be beaten frequently but how? What the hell happened to him to feel that way? John knew it had to have been his missing two years and for the first time John felt like a selfish bastard for making Sherlock feel bad about being gone. He could only imagine what he had been through during that time.

John pulled himself up and went to Sherlock, placing his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. When Sherlock looked up at him with sad eyes but a smile on his face, John leaned down to try and kiss him. John felt embarrassed and confused when Sherlock turned his head so that John missed his lips. It was a little bit better when Sherlock kissed John's hand instead. "Let's just go home, John. Please" he said in a sorrowful voice. An honest voice.

"Of course, let's go home" John agreed.


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter Warning: Chapter contains adult/sexual content_

John didn't know how to act in the cab on the ride home. Sherlock seemed to put intentional distance between himself and John after John had tried to kiss him and John left him alone. The 'I'm fine' look in his eyes had come back and John assumed, or rather hoped, that Sherlock would be alright when they got home. He hoped that in the quiet of their own flat Sherlock might open up a bit and let John comfort him. John had to admit his own selfish reasons too; he wanted to be comforted. He thought of how they could go bed, their bed, their little sanctuary; through all of their experimenting, that had been their safe place to open up. Right now nothing sounded better than the idea that they could go to bed and hold each other.

John felt desperate and needy. He was sure that it had to do with their capture and their close call with death but he didn't care for it all the same. He was used to the adrenaline rush after these experiences; he would feel excited and on top of the world. He would feel as if everything was wonderful because he was alive to experience it still. But now he felt empty and cold. Sherlock sat on as far from him in the cab as he could and John wanted nothing more than to curl up against him; they had faced a near death experience and they were alive because of what Sherlock had done. Maybe that was why he felt a wave of need and something akin to desire and need rising up inside of him; he was used to coming home from a case and finding himself in Mary's arms. Now he was alone. It was crazy to think of himself alone when he had Sherlock, the person responsible for his being alive but he did.

It was late when they got home and trudged through the high snow to get to 221B. It was quiet and far too cold as they walked through the threshold; John instantly went to the fireplace to set a fire and instantly felt the warmth to his cold skin as the flames burst up.

"Want some tea?" John asked, breaking the awkward silence. Personally, he couldn't imagine sleeping at a time like this; he was tired but too emotionally wound up to sleep. Sherlock had been hovering, looking around as if lost and awkward feeling as John. He seemed to glance toward his room when John asked about tea, no doubt thinking about hiding himself. John was glad to see that Sherlock decided not to hide; John hoped they were past that part of their relationship at this point.

"Maybe something a bit stronger" Sherlock said, giving him a small smile as he took off his coat and sat down in his chair by the fire.

John smiled back. "Agreed" he said. He threw any medical caution to the wind about their fragile state and poured them each a glass of wine before coming back to the living room. He handed Sherlock his glass and sat across from him in his own chair.

John sipped his wine slowly as he stared into the flames for several minuets. It was quiet, as Sherlock did the same but this time it felt like a companionable silence. John looked from the flames to Sherlock, watching the shadows on his face. It felt so strange, being here again; without Mary there it felt like it was a different time. At the same time though, he knew it felt different. It was different because as he watched Sherlock sipping his wine, he was contemplating kissing him, a thought he never would have let himself indulge before.

"Thank you…..for what you did" John finally said, feeling warmer from the flame and the wine.

Sherlock looked up at John, blinking back as if he had just remembered that he was there. He smiled, the one he reserved for when he was being charming. "You would have done the same" Sherlock said.

John would have done the same but that wasn't the point. Sherlock was trying to diminish what he had done and he wasn't going to let that happen. "Sherlock, I'm serious" John said, "You put yourself in direct danger for me. I know that couldn't have been easy. You let them torture you just to save me"

"Well, Mary would have killed me if I came home without you" Sherlock teased.

It made John's ire rise; did he have to joke about it? "Why do you have to make jokes about this? It was a big deal and I'm trying to thank you and get you to acknowledge you did a big thing for me."

Sherlock's mask fell off, his face dropping and looking crestfallen. "If I don't laugh about it, I will have to weep about it" he said seriously, not meeting John's eyes but staring into the depths of his glass.

John felt guilty about bringing it up so much; he felt even worse when the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth was, "Tell me what happened to you when you were away. Those two years…..what happened to you?"

"Nothing good; I'm sure you can fill in some of the blanks" Sherlock said, his voice sounding strained. "It was the worst period of my life and that's a life that includes years spent in drug houses and three suicide attempts so trust me when I say you don't want to know."

John felt sick to his stomach and instantly set his glass of wine down. Sherlock didn't often share personal details, especially about his past but when he did he did it in such a blunt matter it took you by surprise. It made John feel horrible to think of Sherlock not only being terribly tortured but to think of his young life when he had been so much in pain he was a drug addict and had apparently tried to take his life on multiple occasions.

John had no idea what to say and he was glad when Sherlock said more. "You know, when I was younger my pain stemmed from being alone" Sherlock said, his voice sounding far away, "But that time away…it was worse. It wasn't because I was alone; it was because I was alone and I knew what it was to have you. I didn't want to die because I had something to live for; if only I could get to it again."

John hardly knew what to say. It was mind blowing to him that he had spent years thinking of Sherlock as a cold, calculating machine when he was so filled with pain and emotions inside. It made John forgive Sherlock completely; at the same time he'd been mourning Sherlock's death, Sherlock had been longing for him. To know that Sherlock had felt for him, had suffered as he had suffered, made all the difference. It meant the affection that John felt for Sherlock was returned.

"Sherlock…..I'm so sorry for the way I treated you" John said, his voice full of emotion. "I can't believe the things I said…after all you did…."

Sherlock held up a hand, his eyes glassy. "It's okay, John; I understand. I don't blame you, you know" he said.

And he did understand. Sherlock knew somehow, in his infinite way of knowing, how sorry John was. He knew how much John hurt and that he hurt just as deeply. Finally, after months of agony and blame, they could forgive each other for what had happened and put it past them.

"You don't?" John asked, his voice coming out as a squeak.

"Of course not" Sherlock said with a genuine smile. "I love you too much to stay mad at you no matter how ill you felt toward me"

 _I love you…_ Sherlock had said those words on the day that he had declared his feelings for him and now he said it again. His words didn't catch; he said them with the confidence of someone who had felt it for a long time. John was overwhelmed; he should have said those words back but he found himself instead doing something else.

John got up from his seat and walked over to Sherlock's chair. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck, he sat down on Sherlock's lap. Sherlock's eyes looked almost dark in the light of the flames, smoldering and full of emotion that John couldn't place but he didn't push John away. In less than a second, John had his mouth over Sherlock's consuming it.

John was on fire; he felt hormones and need coursing through him like he had never felt. His skin burned, his hear hammered inside his chest and his head was already dizzy. His hands were wrapped around Sherlock's head, in his hair, pulling roughly and Sherlock was whimpering but it only spurned John on. God, that sound… _that sound…_ Sherlock was in need and it was because of John. _Sherlock_ needed _him._

Sherlock had always yet been the dominate one when they kissed but John was taking over. Moving his legs so that he was straddling Sherlock's lap, pushing him into the chair, John covered Sherlock's mouth. His tongue was searching, teeth nipping but it wasn't enough; John kissed Sherlock until he felt dizzy but the warmth inside his chest was building and growing until he felt like it would explode. Sherlock's arms were around him, fingers digging into his back and keeping John close to him; his mouth moved along with John's but he had given up control and was simply going along with John's movements. As John gave Sherlock a particularly sharp bite, Sherlock's hips reflexed up toward John's. Spurred on by the action, John ground down against Sherlock and was rewarded with the most delicious growl of frustration.

John pulled back long enough to gain a breath and was relieved to see Sherlock just as affected as he was. Sherlock's head fell back against the chair, staring up at John, eyes dark, lips swollen, breath haggard. His eyes roamed over John before coming to rest up on his eyes. When he opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak, John covered his mouth yet again, silencing him.

Finally, it all made sense. Everything about the past few years of his life that didn't make sense did now. He loved Sherlock; he needed him and had for a long time. Before he had met Mary, John had been the victim of a string of breakups and meaningless relationships and they had always given John one reason for breaking up with him; Sherlock. He had always been irritated that these women felt that they were competing with Sherlock for his attention but now he could see that they had always been able to see what John was now realizing; it had always been Sherlock and nothing could change that. No matter what anyone had ever done, none of it would have been able to compete with anything that Sherlock did.

As John kissed him, Sherlock wiggled under him and began to gasp out in alarm. For a small moment, John's logical mind rose and he recalled that Sherlock was injured; he didn't know the extent of Sherlock's injuries and he realized how now how hard he was pulling on him.

"Should I stop?" John asked, pulling back and placing his hands gently on Sherlock's chest. "Am I hurting you?"

"For heaven's sake John, don't stop" Sherlock said, his voice thick and his eyes glazed. "Break me into a million pieces but please don't stop."

Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's needy and wanting and John needed little coaxing. John couldn't actually believe he was in this moment, Sherlock clinging to him as if he was life, open and honest about what he wanted; and what he wanted was John.

"God…..I've wanted this" John found himself saying, gripping Sherlock's shoulders.

"Me too…..so much. You don't even know" Sherlock said with a relieved laugh.

"Then you'll just have to show me." John said, leaning back in to kiss Sherlock.

John was in too deep to have stopped even if he could have had a coherent thought to stop which he didn't. John's passion was just as strong, if not growing by the moment, and Sherlock was matching him in a battle of lips and hands in hair and on skin. Any residual cool John had felt was gone as his body burned with his need. John's hands gripped Sherlock's neck as he kissed him, relishing the feel of Sherlock's burning skin underneath his fingers but it wasn't enough. Sherlock had a knack for covering as much skin as was possible and John's fingers were going to buttons, slowly undoing them to reveal more and more of Sherlock's pale chest with each button. Before he'd even gotten the shirt off of Sherlock, John was winding his hands through it, running over Sherlock's chest and back before letting it fall to the floor.

John's mouth was too focused for a while to notice to anything amiss. For a good long while, his hands just roamed over Sherlock's skin, taking in the heated skin against his as Sherlock deepened the kiss, ignited by the touch. When John finally opened his eyes and took in the sight of Sherlock without his shirt he paused.

Sherlock's skin was pale as porcelain which John expected but what he didn't expect was the spattering of marks and scars over his body. There were purple and blue bruises dotting his chest and no doubt his back and John felt a pang when he became certain that they must have come from the torture that Sherlock endured to get them free of their captors. But it went on…..Sherlock had old, long thing scars, telling that at some point in his life he was whipped on a regular basis and quite extensively by the looks of it. Even more distressing, John noticed patterns of scars on Sherlock's arms, some paler than other, in a telltale self-harm style.

John was so surprised by it all that he didn't realize that he was just sitting there staring at Sherlock until Sherlock began to cross his arms over himself as if trying to hide some of his skin. It was a reflexive move, one Sherlock was obliviously used to doing; he was embarrassed, hunched and blushing.

"I try to cover…all of this" Sherlock said, trying to smile because he was so embarrassed but it was a grimace.

John didn't want Sherlock to get the wrong idea. "Don't…..there's nothing wrong with it" John said, taking Sherlock's hands in his own and pulling them away from his chest. "It's part of you and I love all the parts of you."

Sherlock's faced blushed furiously as he grinned; it was obvious that he had never gotten that remark about his body and that made John thoroughly sad. Still holding Sherlock's hands, he leaned down and traced Sherlock's scars, lips on his marred skin. First, he lavished his attention on the bruises, the ones Sherlock earned so recently. He was careful with them; barely kissing them for fear of hurting him. Then, he let his tongue gently trace the long scars; John tried not to think 'whip lashes' but that was exactly what they were. As John tasted them, he wished he could take the person who did it and turn the whip on them. Last, John kissed the self-inflicted wounds, tenderly, gently, hoping that his affection for Sherlock soaked through his skin and would seep into his heart. John sincerely hoped that Sherlock was never so sad that he had to turn the blade on himself again. Sherlock was trembling from the gentle touches; they were so intimate and John hoped that they connected to him in a way that no one else ever had before.

John wanted all of it; hadn't he always? He had wanted all of Sherlock for so long but he never realized it. He never realized why he felt so unfulfilled, why he longed for Sherlock's attention; he believed him indifferent and that subconsciously killed him. But Sherlock wasn't indifferent and that was very obvious to John, especially when he found himself sliding off Sherlock's lap into the floor by the chair, kissing wounds lower and lower until his lips his Sherlock's belt. John's hands were shaking but he made quick work of Sherlock's belt and zipper.

Sherlock gasped in the most alluring way possible, opened mouth and needy as John released him from his trousers. John could see his erection clearly straining against his pants and John felt a bit dizzy when he realized how curious he was to see it. He thought about the night he and Mary had had sex on the couch while Sherlock had watched them. John had seen it then but only barely; he was trying at that time not to look even though he clearly wanted to. He felt a surge of heat and desire as he recalled how Sherlock had come from watching them and even more so when he admitted to himself that he himself had come when Sherlock had, gasping out his name.

Sherlock moved his bum up and slid out of his trousers with surprising speed; when John gave a nervous laugh, he seemed to regain himself and sat down, hands gripping the arm rests viciously. John took great delight in seeing Sherlock loose his breath as he leaned down and tentatively nipped at Sherlock through the fabric of his pants. He whimpered and grabbed at the chair for lack of control and it only spurred John on. John's own cock was throbbing, constricted painfully in his jeans but all his attention was on noticing everything about Sherlock and appreciating him in a way that he never had before.

How many people got to see Sherlock this way? John knew the answer wasn't zero, as he had once believed, but he was willing to bet that the answer was not very many. As John slipped Sherlock's pants off of him and let them fall to the floor, exposing the man who the world looked to for answers to their most troubling problems, he could not have felt luckier to have been in that position. There was nothing self-conscious about Sherlock now; John's attentions on his body gave him confidence so that now he was open, vulnerable but eager; there was genuine trust in the way he sat and gazed at John and John had no idea what he could have possibly done to deserve it.

John would look back on this moment later with more wonder and surprise at himself than he had now; now, he was so eager to touch and feel and become part of Sherlock that he didn't even second guess what he was doing. With little to no hesitation, John wrapped his lips around Sherlock's length and took it into his mouth, earning a string of curses uncharacteristic from Sherlock and hands in his hair, pulling a bit hard but John didn't stop. Maybe he should have been nervous but he wasn't; this certainly was the first time that he had done this. He'd watched gay porn before, to be sure, though he'd always denied it to Sherlock; it only occurred to him now that Sherlock surely knew all about it without even having to ask John. The thought made him smile despite the burning of the moment.

Apparently, the deep desires of his subconscious and his hot passion of the moment combined to make him do something right. He moved up and down along Sherlock's cock, experimenting with licking and moving his tongue all around to see what felt good to Sherlock. Obviously, everything felt good; Sherlock was soon a mess. His fingers gripped John's hair, fingers digging into his shoulders as his breathing grew more and more ragged. Sherlock's head was thrown back, moaning and gasping, flushed.

John kept moving, licking and pulling in any way that he could think of until Sherlock came close to his release. That much, at least, John could tell from their couch encounter.

"John…John…" Sherlock called out in a quiet, almost a whisper of a voice as if it were a mantra to hold onto as his desire built up. John moved his eyes up so he could visually ingrain the image of Sherlock's face as he came. Sherlock gripped John's shoulders so much he could feel his nails through his jumper as his mouth gapped open, gasping and trembling as his orgasm washed over him. John was expecting it; he'd even made the direct decision to not pull away but it still was odd. John could tell that he wasn't the only one that was sexually deprived as Sherlock filled his mouth. Sherlock's head had fall onto John's holding him, partly fatigue and partly comfort, and John was spared from worrying his face looked odd as he swallowed back a mouthful of come for the first time.

"John…..oh….John" Sherlock was breathing John's name like it was the most beautiful word ever as he lay against John. John felt a surge of love and affection run through him; he could listen to the sound of that forever. To know that Sherlock was happy, utterly and completely satisfied and that he was the one that put it there….it was beyond words for John.

John didn't get long to process what had happened, what he had just done before Sherlock was on him. With surprising force, Sherlock pushed John back against the floor, rough, hard….John's head hit the floor with more force than he would have liked but the raw, primal motions took his breath away. Sherlock's mouth smothered John's, sucking out any bit of air John managed to take, stealing it away as he kissed him. Sherlock's mouth was on his and then his neck, biting and sucking at the flesh there so hard that John was sure to have quite a purple collar after it was over. John's head spun as Sherlock's mouth was everywhere, hot and sloppy in the most delicious way, setting John's skin aflame. Before John could think to even do it himself, Sherlock was pulling John's jumper roughly over his head, yanking his jeans and pants down until in record speed John felt nothing on his skin but the heat of the flames and Sherlock's smooth, sweaty skin against his.

Everything Sherlock was doing was fast and furious but for a moment, Sherlock paused, hands on either side of John, leaning over him as he gazed down at him. The sight of Sherlock, open mouthed, awe in his eyes as he looked down at John in that moment would forever be burned into John's mind. His midnight curls were wild around his head, the firelight glinting off his pale skin, looking beautiful; it was made even better by the fact that Sherlock was looking at _him_ as if he was the beautiful one. John could feel that Sherlock's fingers were shaking as they raked over his body, taking it all in and leaving goosebumps behind as he moved across skin.

When Sherlock abruptly ducked his head and took John into his mouth, John's breath hissed out of him and his head fell back. John knew that he was inarticulate; he was sure that he sounded ridiculous. But as Sherlock's tongue licked along his cock, alternating soft touches and hard sucks, John found he couldn't help gasping and whimpering Sherlock's name, nor could he resist the urge to sink his hands deep into the gorgeous curls between his legs. Occasionally, Sherlock's eyes would flick up and meet his, lips still around his cock, no doubt taking in a million deductions about John's responses; that alone could fuel his fantasies for years.

John thought that he had done pretty well for someone that had no experience at all but it was obvious that Sherlock _did_ have experience and he was a quick study. Sherlock so instinctively knew where to touch and how to touch, knew exactly what little moves would completely undo John he wondered if Sherlock had a window into his subconscious; maybe Sherlock was just that good. At any rate, John was at the risk of looking like a minute man. John could already feel a wave of pleasure building up, one that felt like it had been building up forever; he couldn't have stopped it if he tried which of course, he wasn't trying.

John thought for a fraction of a moment to warn Sherlock; it was only the right thing to do. But the words got stuck in John's throat and before he could say anything, John's orgasm was washing over him, toes curling and hands clenching in Sherlock's hair, shaking as he came in a way that he couldn't recall ever having done before.

As John's release ebbed away, Sherlock fell against John's chest. His heart was thumping and he was sure that Sherlock could hear it; Sherlock was breathing rapidly, calming gradually as he lay against John's chest. Eventually, the sound of their breathing got quiet and John wondered for a moment what to say. What did one say after you and your best friend sucked each other off? As soon as they question came to his mind, he knew there wasn't an answer to it because it was more than that; it had always been more than that. This was a culmination of so many things and so many years.

After several minutes, Sherlock moved off of John enough to reach across his chair and pull down a blanket from it. John was still burning and he knew he'd be sticky in the morning but he gladly took it when Sherlock threw it over both of them. John thought he'd regret lying on the floor for the pain he'd feel in the morning but he didn't move; he doubted he could. He was feeling overwhelming post orgasm fatigue but more than that he couldn't tear himself away from Sherlock.

Now that the burning arousal had diminished, John could stop and fully appreciate Sherlock in the moment. He lay next to John, his face open and calm, looking younger and more vulnerable than John had ever seen him. Sherlock was not a man that loved often but when he did, he did it all the way, whole heartily. John reached up a hand, brushing back Sherlock's hair as he leaned forward and gave Sherlock a slow, lazy kiss. Sherlock's hand covered John's shoulder, idly running his thumb over his bullet scar as he kissed John back.

When they broke apart, they wrapped their arms around each other, foreheads touching. "Did I adequately show you how much I've wanted that?" Sherlock asked finally with a slight, sly grin.

John smiled back, his eyes falling closed in overwhelming fatigue. "I think that is a bit of an understatement" he said with satisfied smirk.

….

When John woke up the next morning, he felt soreness all along his body and a distinct chill. Curling up further on himself he felt his bad shoulder burn in protest and could feel his bare skin chilled. He thought it was odd; he didn't normally sleep without clothes unless he was so tired post sex that he couldn't manage to dress and from the ache in his body he could tell that he had not fallen asleep in his bed.

Opening his eyes, John's memory was reignited. Sherlock lay inches from him on the floor, lying on his stomach, his arms tucked under his face, sound asleep, the blanket riding down close to his bum, exposing his back. John sat up, startled to see Sherlock so close to him, obliviously naked. The fire had burned out in the fireplace and the flat was cold but John didn't cling to the blanket that was around him and Sherlock. There was a sinking feeling in stomach, making him feel sick and he couldn't figure out why it was there. He hadn't been drunk and the memories of the night before were all rushing back to him. He wasn't sure why he felt simultaneously flushed and ill at the same time.

Faintly in the quiet of the flat John could hear his phone ringing and he followed the sound of it until he found it in his discarded jeans on the floor. Fishing it out, he answered it, feeling his hands shaking.

"Hello?" he said, rubbing a hand over his face and trying to wake up. His eyes kept drifting toward Sherlock asleep, his feeling of discontent starting to grow inside him.

"John! Finally, I get you. Sherlock had said you were a little sick but I was beginning to think he had you tied up somewhere" Mary's voice was light as she teased him.

John's mind slowly recalled the past few days. Sherlock had obviously not told Mary how dire their situation had been and John wasn't going to either. John forced out a laugh to match Mary's but it sounded like the fakest laugh he was capable of. "Well, don't put it past him" John tried to joke. "But this time at least I just had a fever….." John was beginning to wonder if he was still sick; as his eyes roamed over the path of his and Sherlock's clothes on the floor his heart skipped beats and his stomach churned.

"You alright? You sound off" Mary said, concern coloring her voice when John didn't say more.

"No…just a bit delirious I guess." John said. His attention was on Sherlock; Mary was talking and John wasn't listening…..everything was coming back to him. The memories of the previous night came rushing into his head and dread hit him. What had he done?

"I guess then I'll just have to take care of you when I get home, which thankfully should be soon" Mary was saying sympathetically. "I'm trying getting a cab so I should be home soon."

"Good…I missed you" John said. He meant the words but inside he felt hollow.

"I missed you too. The baby's been kicking up a storm; she must have missed you too" Mary said with a small laugh that John couldn't match.

Sherlock was stirring and John felt slightly panicked at the thought that soon they were going to have to talk about what had happened. Even worse, Mary would be home soon and she would know….John knew her and she would just _know._ After telling the two of them time and time again that he wasn't ready to make their relationship sexual, John had jumped at the first chance to sleep with Sherlock on his own. That wasn't that deal, that wasn't supposed to be part of it….when Mary found out she was sure to be upset. John didn't blame her if she was; she had reason to. He felt guilt like a black cloud inside his heart when it hit him that he hadn't thought about her once last night. He and Sherlock had done what they did and he hadn't thought about Mary or how this would affect her once. He was a horrible person and he had never felt lower about himself.

"I love you so much….you and the baby. I love you more than anything; remember that" John found himself saying. His voice was serious and intense and he could tell by Mary's voice that she picked up on it and was justifiably concerned.

"You sure you're alright?" Mary asked.

"I'm fine…I just wanted to tell you that" John said, tight lipped.

Mary accepted the answer reluctantly. "Okay. Well, I love you too, sweetheart. I'll see you soon"

John hung up the phone, his mouth dry and his throat tight. He had to tell Mary he loved her; he had to try to get her to believe it because she likely would not when this was over. He couldn't blame her for not believing him.

John scooped his jeans off the floor and slid into them uncomfortably, feeling a wave of shame as he untangled them from Sherlock's clothes. He went to the bathroom, turning the sink on and splashing water on his face, hoping that somehow the water would wash away some of what he had done.

He and Sherlock had had sex and it had been John's idea. There wasn't even a shadow of doubt in his mind where he could blame it on Sherlock; John had come on to him. Sherlock had saved his life; he had been heroic and charming and John had felt his emotions turning him into a puddle. It wasn't common for him; he didn't melt like that and he wasn't that romantic. Well…..except that with Sherlock he was. All of his love and affection for Sherlock had surged through him and he wanted nothing more than to kiss and touch and feel Sherlock and he had not stopped until he had had all of him. It was not Sherlock's fault; he wasn't the one that was married and he wasn't the one that would have to stop and think about the effect this was going to have on Mary. John wondered for a moment if Mary would be upset but then he thought how he would feel if Mary and Sherlock slept together and he wasn't there; it felt like a punch to the stomach and he knew that of course Mary would be upset. Hadn't that been the deal the whole time? They were all supposed to be in this together and John had horribly excluded Mary. Whatever terrible things she thought about him would be justified.

As weighed down as John was with his guilt, that didn't stop him from feeling a residual wave of desire when he thought about Sherlock lying between his legs…As John dried his face he could see a ring of purple bruises around his neck, blatant proof to anyone with eyes what had happened. Sherlock had always managed to make his way into John's dreams and now those dreams were memories. And his dreams had not let him down….Being with Sherlock was all that John had imagined it would be, all those years when he would make his way into his subconscious dreams and more recently when John let himself daydream about it. Sherlock's brilliant, filthy, unstoppable tongue had been more skilled than John even imagined; with his abilities to deduce, it made him the perfect partner. Everything he wanted, everything that undid him was seen by Sherlock and acted on. But even more than that, Sherlock loved him. He not only said it but it dripped into all of his actions. Sherlock looked at him as if he was a beautiful mystery, touched him like he was a treasure…..He felt completely different about himself at the hands of Sherlock.

A fresh wave of guilt hit John; Sherlock…what was he going to say to Sherlock? He had been so concerned with how he was going to repair the damage with Mary that he hadn't considered how crushed Sherlock was going to be. There was no way this could continue; if John allowed himself to love Sherlock and Mary then one day someone would get hurt and it would be his fault. As much as he wanted it now, one day it would ruin his family and he wasn't going to be responsible for that. He loved Sherlock; god, he loved him more that air, more than life. But he loved Mary too and he had promised to love her first. She was his wife and they were having a baby and he had certain responsibilities. They were the ones that were going to get hurt if continued this; he had seen the damage first hand and he wasn't going to repeat it.

When John went back into the sitting room, Sherlock had gotten up and reignited the flames in the fireplace but they did little to warm him up. Sherlock was standing by the window, looking out over the city, lazily shrugging into a dressing gown. His bum was fully displayed down; full and perfect and there were simply a million things John could imagine doing with that…John shook his head to rid it of the wandering thoughts. Even now, John was flushing with desire; it would be so easy to just give in…But he couldn't and it killed him.

Sherlock had put on his dressing gown and turned around to notice John. His face lit up and it made John feel even worse. "There you are….thought you might have run out on me" Sherlock teased. His voice was light, his expression open but there was the slightest doubt as if he really had worried John might have run out on him. It made John feel even worse for what he was about to do.

Sherlock made a move to walk towards John but John held up a hand and backed up. "Stop…we need to talk, Sherlock" John said. He wanted nothing more than to fall into Sherlock's arms but he didn't deserve to hold him, to touch him while he broke his heart.

Sherlock was obviously hurt by the pushing away, emotion crossing his face. John could tell he knew something bad was coming; it was written all over his face it he tried to put on a brave face. "Okay…uh…okay…..we can talk" he said, his voice strong except for the slight shaking. He face was noticeably paling; he was so naturally pale that it made him look sick as John felt.

How could he do this? John tried to get his mouth to work but it was so hard; how could he do this to Sherlock? John was about to do what he had feared he would do and it was going to change things between them forever. How could John let go of Sherlock now that he had let himself know what it would be like to love him?

"Sherlock…this is the hardest thing I have ever done. I don't want to do this…." John started. He was staring at the floor to be saved having to look at Sherlock but when Sherlock spoke it was impossible not to look into his face.

What he saw there broke his face further. Sherlock's eyes were already filling with tears, glassy and emotional. "Then don't…please don't. Don't do this John" he begged.

This was when Sherlock's gifts were a curse. Sherlock knew exactly what was coming and likely knew there wasn't anything that he could do to stop it. His heart was already breaking and John wasn't sure that he had the self-control to do this.

"I have to be responsible. I'm going to have a family" John tried to justify his actions. His voice was desperate and it further fueled Sherlock's sorrow.

"I thought I was part of your family" Sherlock said. His eyes were filled with tears and though John could tell that he was trying his best to hold them in, they were already spilling out and making his eyelashes wet. John had never seen Sherlock cry. He'd seen him fake it before but he had never seen him actually cry real tears; he never thought he'd be the reason to break Sherlock down enough to cry.

"You are" John said. "But I think this arraignment we have now is a recipe for disaster. I don't want to ruin things with Mary. I can't; she's my wife. We are going to have a baby…I should never have agreed to any of this in the first place. I think it would be better for us if went back to the way things were before."

Sherlock wasn't even trying to hide his tears now; big, crocodile tears freely ran down his cheeks. "Before when?" he asked, chocking back a sob.

It was all that John could do to keep his composure. "Before we all decided we should try to be a couple. Before we all lived together and had no boundaries" John said, forcing each word out painfully.

Sherlock's hands were over his face, weeping into his hands for a minute before he could say anything. If John had known how painful it was to watch Sherlock cry he would never have wished Sherlock to be more emotional. "John, don't do this" Sherlock begged him when he could catch his breath again. "Listen, I'm sorry we had sex…I'm sorry I pushed you to do that but please don't leave. Do anything….but don't leave! We can go back to just being friends but please don't move out. Don't leave me alone!"

It was horrible, so much worse than John would have thought. Sherlock was desperate and a desperate Sherlock was the most pitiful sight he'd ever seen. The last thing he really wanted to do was move out of here and go back to the way things had been before when John saw Sherlock maybe once a week. He needed Sherlock in a desperate way but he just couldn't see what his alternative was.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just can't do this…."John said his voice wavering. Tears were coming to his own eyes and he closed them, biting his lip to hold it in. Sherlock was freely crying and John wanted to close his eyes and pretend that this awful nightmare wasn't happening.

That was how Mary eventually found them; John didn't even see her coming. "What is going on here?" Mary's voice broke John and Sherlock out of their tensioned silence.

John turned around, taking a deep breath and trying to act normal. Sherlock wiped his eyes but they were puffy and red and it would be obvious to anyone he was crying. Mary stood in the doorway, looking at them in concern for a moment before she said bluntly, "Did you two sleep together?"

The simple statement just made Sherlock start crying again and John paled. "I'm sorry…..it's not going to happen again" John said, miserably before he did the only thing he could think of and fled the room.

…

Mary was stunned for a moment and her mind struggled to catch up to what was happening. After spending several days alone in a hotel room she was relieved to be home; she wanted to see John and she wanted to see Sherlock. She was ready to be home. She wasn't prepared for the emotional event happening when she walked into the flat. She was used to seeing Sherlock and John in the middle of experiments or in the middle of terrible arguments. But this? This was much worse. She'd wanted to laugh when she said they'd had sex; it was obvious as hell, from their half-dressed state to the ring of hickies on John's neck to their messy hair. But something wasn't funny…Sherlock was actually sobbing and John looked on the verge himself. Something bad had happened and she couldn't guess that part at least.

Sherlock had sunk into his chair; he was so upset Mary didn't have the heart to even tease him about his dressing gown gapping open. He kept wiping his eyes as if trying to compose himself but it was no use; he kept breaking down.

"Sherlock, what happened?" Mary asked, placing her hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He flinched and seemed more distressed so Mary backed away.

"John said that us all being together was a bad idea and that he wanted to move back out and go back to the ways things were before" Sherlock rushed his words together before dissolving back into tears.

Mary's confusion increased; it hardly seemed like something John would want. She had to admit she was a little surprised that things had happened so quickly between John and Sherlock, especially when John was so insistent that he wasn't ready for sex with Sherlock yet. But at the same time it wasn't that surprising; she had seen he was attracted to Sherlock before she'd even met Sherlock, long ago when she thought he was a ghost. But even more than she knew John desired Sherlock, she knew he needed him. John could never be happy going back to keeping Sherlock at arm's length so why was he even thinking about it?

"You hang in there, Sherlock. I'll talk to John" Mary said consolingly. "I'm sure this is a big misunderstanding. John and I aren't going anywhere"

Sherlock looked up when Mary spoke, despair written on his face. "I'll get this sorted out" Mary said firmly as he looked at her for some reassurance before she walked toward her and John's room. It was weird even going in that direction; they'd been sleeping in Sherlock's room for so long that this felt wrong.

When Mary walked into the room, John was pacing wildly around, hands in his hair as if he couldn't contain himself. Before Mary could open her mouth to speak, John beat her to it.

"I am sorry, Mary; really I am" he said desperately. "It was a mistake. I'm not going to let that happen again. I promise"

He was so tightly wound up Mary took his hand and forced him to sit down on the bed. "Calm down" Mary prodded him, interlacing her fingers with his. John calmed a little but he still seemed ready to jump off the bed and run out of the room.

"I'm not upset that you and Sherlock slept together" Mary said sincerely. "I am upset over what you said to Sherlock, though. He's hysterical out there; why did you tell him you wanted to move out?"

"Because this isn't going to work; it's a mistake" John said rashly, "We need to move out; we should have a normal life and a normal family for our baby. I don't want Sherlock to get in the middle of you and me."

"Where did you get the idea that Sherlock was getting in the middle of you and me?" Mary asked gently. John wasn't making any sense but Mary was trying to unpeel the layers of whatever was really bothering him.

"Because I made a big deal of not wanting to sleep with you and him and then the moment you're gone we fuck each other? How could you not be upset?" John asked, his voice several notches above normal.

"Well, I would have loved to have been able to watch" Mary said with a small smile but when John didn't response, she stopped. "But John, I'm not upset you did it. When we all decided to become a couple, I never assumed that you and Sherlock wouldn't be intimate with each other sometimes on your own. I understand that's different than the three of us. You were hesitant about all three of us not only because you and Sherlock were going to be together but you'd have to see me and Sherlock together too, right?"

John nodded, looking miserable but he didn't say anything.

"Even if I was upset, we have to talk about this rationally" Mary said, "But I'm not upset. If you need to, you and Sherlock can put some distance in your use of physical affection but we aren't moving. I'll put my foot down on that; Sherlock is part of our family whether we let him in our bed or not and that's not going to change."

"But don't you see? This is going to ruin us one day! Don't you understand?" John said, standing up, his face red with emotion and distress.

"No, I don't understand. Explain it to me" Mary said, her voice soft and what she hoped would be calming.

"I'm turning into my father and I'm not going to let that happen!" John said, anger and self-loathing on his face. He was shaking with anger, pacing again.

Mary didn't understand at all. John hardly ever talked about his family. As far as Mary knew, he had none; he hadn't had any at the wedding. Harry was the only one in his family as far as Mary knew and their relationship was strained at best. John's mother had passed on and when Mary asked about his father, John had just said that he wasn't in the picture and hadn't been for a long time. He'd seemed so upset that Mary didn't bring it up again or push for more information.

Mary walked up to John and wrapped her arms comfortingly around him; she was glad when it silenced him enough to stop walking around. She could feel him melt around her; he needed a hug more than he had realized. "Please tell me about it" Mary prodded him gently.

John followed her lead back to the bed, sitting down next to her, hand tightly holding onto hers. "My dad ruined our family; he ruined our family and I could never forgive him for that" John said quietly.

John was looking down, away from Mary and when he paused, Mary waited for him. "My dad wasn't the greatest but at least he was there and loved my mother…or at least he acted like it when we were kids" John continued. "But when I was thirteen he left my mom…..for another guy."

Mary didn't know what exactly she expected but it wasn't that. She didn't know what to say and she was glad when John kept talking and spared her from having to say anything. "It destroyed my mom; she was never the same after that. She always wondered what she did wrong; she blamed herself for his leaving us and 'turning him gay' as she said. Harry was older than me and she took it harder; I think that's when her drinking started. I hated what he did to them…..we never saw him after that and even now I don't know where he's living or even if he's still alive."

 _I hated what it did to them…_ all Mary could hear was 'I hate what he did to me'. John wouldn't say it and Mary wouldn't call him on it but she could see in his eyes the vulnerability. For a moment it was like he was a kid again, feeling how vulnerable it was to be abandoned by his dad. She could only imagine how hard it was, feeling that he and his whole family was expendable to his dad. It all made sense to Mary now. She had always wondered why the word 'gay' was so offensive to John; he was completely supportive of Harry's being gay. John had always been so offended and afraid of people saying he was gay, not because he was so terrified of simply being interested in men but because he subconsciously saw being gay as what destroyed his family.

"I'm so sorry, John. I had no idea" Mary said, giving John a sideways hug. "That must have been terrible"

"I could care less about him" John said with a shrug even though it was obvious he did care a lot. "I just was sure that I never wanted to be like him. I saw what he did to his family and I always promised myself if I had a family I would never do something like that to them."

"John, you do realize that you're not at all like him" Mary said carefully, "Your father's problem wasn't that he was gay; it was that he abandoned you, Harry and your mum. You'd never do that to me and our baby; I know what kind of man you are. You're not leaving me for Sherlock."

John still looked miserable. "I know that you don't have a problem with it now, but what if one day you do? What if one day you decide that you don't want Sherlock with us and you wanted me to give him up?"

The implied _What if one day you decide that you don't want Sherlock with us and you wanted me to give him up AND I CANT,_ hung in Mary's head but she pushed it away. She could be offended if she thought John genuinely meant he was worried one day she'd have a problem with Sherlock and John wouldn't be able to give him up, thus making him chose Sherlock over her. But like she said, she knew he wasn't that kind of man; he was responsible and loyal. Even now he was willing to push Sherlock away if it saved their marriage, despite the fact that it had to be killing him inside.

"I know what happened to your family was very tough to deal with" Mary started. "But our situation isn't anything like that and you know why? Because we all love each other. In your family, I'm sure your mum had no idea what your dad was up to until he up and left. That's completely different than what we are doing. We are all agreement with all of this because we all love each other. Hell, this was all my idea. I saw how much you and Sherlock love each and how you wouldn't be complete unless you were together. I know how much he means to you; I would never expect you to choose between him and me. I know you love him and I love him too; I don't want him to go anywhere."

John looked troubled, worry in his eyes. He wanted to believe what Mary was saying but he was having trouble. After what happened to him, Mary couldn't blame him for worrying. But his worries were completely unfounded; Mary loved John and Sherlock and she didn't want either of them going anywhere.

"I guess….we can give it another chance" John said reluctantly after a while. "Sherlock's really upset isn't he?"

Mary cringed. "I've never seen him like that" she admitted. "You have to talk to him. We have to talk to him."

Mary kissed John gently, rubbing her thumb around his cheek. "I really am sorry, though. We should have done it for the first time with you." John said.

"I am going to demand to see a recreation" Mary teased him. "I have to know how that happened."

"Bastard saved my life…..again" John said, blushing slightly. "Then he had to go and be all charming and everything."

Mary laughed, give John a long kiss. "Yeah, he's good at that" she agreed before running her fingers along the bruises on his neck. "And apparently he has a biting fixation."

"Maybe I just am that delicious" John said, his tone bragging. Mary couldn't help but laugh.

"You definitely are" Mary agreed, glad to see John feeling better. "Now, let's go smooth things over with Sherlock"

"Okay" John agreed taking Mary's hand and following her back into the sitting room. Mary was alarmed to not find Sherlock there. She felt her worry increase when they couldn't find him anywhere in the flat.

"Well, I'm sure he just needed a bit of time alone" Mary said brightly, secretly worried but hoping that her worries were unfounded. Sherlock had just been so upset….she instantly started to worry about him having a relapse.

"When he's upset he can disappear for quite some time" John said, sounding slightly deflated. "I wish I hadn't said all of those things to him. I hope he knows I didn't really mean it."

Mary gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm sure that he will come back soon and you can explain it all to him."


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter Warning- Self Harm/ Suicide Attempt_

But Sherlock didn't come back soon. John was used to Sherlock disappearing; sometimes he would leave for days on end with no word at all as to where he had gone. It had actually been one of the things that he had warned John of when they first decided to become flat mates. It had never bothered John much in the early days; Sherlock did all sorts of weird things in the sake of cases. It was only when he learned that Sherlock had been a drug addict that he began to worry; even more so after the one time that after five days absence Mycroft had found Sherlock passed out in a drug house.

Now, he worried more than ever. John and Mary went about their day, trying to act normally but John was eaten up with worry and he was sure that Mary was too. This wasn't a normal disappearance. Sherlock hadn't disappeared for any amount of time since John and Mary had moved in and with him being so upset they were both worried they'd find him on another binge.

By the time John and Mary got into bed that night, John couldn't help but voice his concern. "We should go look for him" John blurted out as soon as Mary turned out the light and rolled over in bed toward him. They had both unspokenly went for Sherlock's bed despite the fact that he wasn't with them.

"If we don't hear from him tomorrow we will call Mycroft" Mary assured him. "You know if Sherlock was in any danger, he'd call us; he would know. I'm sure Sherlock just needs some space."

"But what if he doesn't…..what if…"John let the words trail off. What if Sherlock overdoses was heavy in his mind. What if something terrible happened to him? It would all be John's fault because he'd pushed him away. He'd have done anything to have Sherlock back at that moment to explain it all to him.

Mary pulled John close to her, laying his head on her shoulder and running a hand through his hair comfortingly. "It'll be okay. Sherlock has always been fine; he will be alright this time too"

John swallowed his fear down, trying to believe her words. All he could think about was Sherlock's scars; he'd looked so beautiful last night but his body told a damaged past and a soul that had managed to service a lot of pain. _"It was the worst period of my life and that's a life that includes years spent in drug houses and three suicide attempts so trust me when I say you don't want to know."_ His words echoed in John's head; Sherlock had surely survived a lot and John hoped that he hadn't pushed him over the edge. Sherlock's history suggested that nothing could kill him; would that still be true if he had no hope?

…..

 _This is my note. That's what people do, isn't it? Write a note…_

That was what people did but Sherlock couldn't manage it. The note would be more painful than the ending and what good would it do anyone really? Best to make a clean break of it.

Sherlock was amazed that he had managed to evade Mycroft's watchful eye; even now he wasn't sure how he'd done it. He'd been so emotionally compromised it was surprising he had his full mental capabilities about him but obviously he had if he had given Mycroft the slip. Maybe Mycroft was losing his touch; maybe after seeing how happy he was with John and Mary he'd gotten lax about his security around Sherlock's drug haunches. No matter…

Sherlock had been anticipating the ecstasy of the drug; he needed it more now than ever. But as the needle had pierced him and the cocaine rushed through his system, he'd found none of the relief it had once offered. All of Sherlock's adult life he had leaned on drugs in times of mental tedium and more recently, emotional distress. When he'd come back to London to find John gone from his life in all the ways that mattered, he had used drugs to dull the pain. He'd found that he didn't feel as lonely, or at least he didn't notice the loneliness as much, when not sober. But this time….this time it didn't work. Cocaine had always been his failsafe and it had finally failed him. What was left to him now? What would save him from his own thoughts?

This time the drugs made Sherlock's thoughts about Mary and John clearer; normally he would have welcomed clearer thoughts but not about them and not in that moment. Sherlock had always prided himself on seeming unemotional and cold, at least on outside but he was human. He did have a heart that cared about things and people and John Watson had broken that heart.

Sherlock could hardly bear it when John had told him that they couldn't be intimate together again. For so long, Sherlock had imagined opening himself up, completely and wholly, to John and he had not been disappointed. John was exactly the way he had imagined; tender but passionate. He had lavished affectionate on Sherlock and the way he looked at Sherlock that night was in a way that no one ever had before. Sherlock had been so afraid to take that last step with John; he was afraid that it would ruin them. But in those moments last night he had felt secure enough with John, loved and desired enough, that he had opened up in all ways possible. He'd been stupid, really; he should have stopped John. He should have foreseen the consequences of their actions and stopped John. But he had selfishly wanted it so bad he had given in and went along with John, to their ruin.

John thought them sleeping together was a mistake and that had broken Sherlock's heart; he didn't agree. Even as John had been saying it, Sherlock wanted only to pull him into his arms and kiss him and hold him until nothing else mattered. As painful as it would have been to turn away, to give John space and go back to being flat mates and not partners, Sherlock would have done it if he would have stayed. Sherlock would have done or said anything that would make John stay.

 _"_ _I think it would be better for us if went back to the way things were before."_

That was what John had said but better for whom? Sherlock knew his life was better in so many ways since John and Mary had come to live with him. Before they came, he had been just hanging on by a thread. They had each other and he had no one and though he acted as if that way fine it wasn't. He was spiraling out of control without them and without them again it would only be worse because he knew what he could have had and what he was missing. Mary and John and even the idea of their unborn child had become his family, his world; he would not be better off without them.

Would John be better off without him? He wanted to say that John would suffer as well but maybe he wouldn't. Had Sherlock been such a bad judge of character that he couldn't see that John's life wasn't better with Sherlock? Obviously he was if John could just leave him. John had given up his job to solve cases with him and had moved out of his and Mary's own flat for his…..he'd even agreed to try a romantic relationship between them all but would John be okay without all of that? Would he survive when Sherlock couldn't? Of course he could; he would still have Mary and their baby. His life would go on…just as John had survived when he thought Sherlock was dead, he would do the same now.

Sherlock felt bad for Mary. Mary, his friend, his sensitive, caring friend; the one who had tried to give him everything he ever wanted. She would cry and be sad and probably even blame herself but it wasn't her fault. She had said that she would talk to John and try to make him see he couldn't leave. He appreciated her care but Sherlock couldn't stick around to watch as his life got more and more devoid of them. It was best to have it out all at once.

John had made Sherlock tick; he'd given Sherlock purpose and meaning. When Mary came along she only added to that. With their help, Sherlock had finally found meaning in the small every day events and showed him what ordinary people seemed to find so attractive about life. Without them, life lost its color and excitement. Maybe he should have been upset that they had taken him and changed him; maybe he was better as a machine. But Sherlock couldn't be upset about it; he'd gotten to feel love in a real true way before it all ended.

If Sherlock was thinking, he would have bemoaned the fact that the great Sherlock Holmes' end was so plainly ordinary that it was almost unfair. But there was something depressingly poetic about it as well; the great, brilliant Sherlock was a farce and it wasn't one Sherlock could hold up anymore.

Like Mycroft always told him, caring was not an advantage; but neither was loneliness.

….

John couldn't sleep that night, not that he had expected to. He kept drifting in an out of sleep, his subconscious listening for the sound of Sherlock coming back in the night but it never happened. He would wake, listen to the unrelenting silence , curl up into Mary's arms tighter and then press his face against the sheets that smelled like Sherlock but different; different because John knew that his own scent and Mary's was mixed into them as well.

The day was cold and grey and drab when John woke up and it didn't help his mood. He and Mary tried to go about their day, having breakfast and then lying around the flat still in their pyjamas but it was obvious that something was wrong. After hours of trying to watch telly or read a book with no attention span at all, John sat down in front of his computer, thinking only about Sherlock and where he might be. At this point, John almost hoped that Sherlock walked into the flat stoned; at least then he'd know what where he was and frankly, at this point, being on drugs was the least of John's worries for Sherlock.

With John's computer open, he stared blankly at his blog, thinking about updating it; he hadn't done so since a few days before he and Sherlock were kidnapped but what would he say? After what had happened the last few days, John could only imagine what kind of entry it would make for:

 _Sherlock saved my life…yet again. I think that makes at least a hundred times that he's done that. Interesting fact: Sherlock and I had sex. I'm sure that's not surprising to any of you; it seems everyone had been expecting us to shag since the day we met and finally we did. Side note; Sherlock gives excellent head. Then I ruined it with my commitment issues and Sherlock has been gone since I drove him away._

It was an interesting indulgence but John didn't let himself linger with it long. As much as he could joke about it, this was serious and John simply wouldn't feel right until he knew where Sherlock was and how he was doing. No matter what Mary said, whatever happened to Sherlock after his disappearance would be John's fault and he felt responsible. If Sherlock didn't come back by dinner time, John was marching directly to the Diogenes club and speaking to Mycroft face to face to sort out where Sherlock had run off to.

Unfortunately, John never got a chance to do that. Mary was making lunch in the kitchen as John stared at his computer when John got a call on his mobile. Practically jumping at the call, John nearly dropped his phone trying to check the number. His stomach simultaneously rose and sank when he noticed it was a blocked number. It could be anyone but John knew it wasn't….he knew the one person who would be calling him with a blocked number.

"Hello" John answered, trying and failing to keep the shaking out of his voice. His hand was trembling and he felt everything in slow motion around him, as if the whole world knew something bad was happening.

"John…."Mycroft's voice sounded like John had never heard it. It had lost all of its casualness and boredom. It was hard, harsh and that terrified John; what could have put that tone in Mycroft's voice? Mycroft, the man who seemed unaffected by so much….John thought about how he was so crass and unemotional when Sherlock had overdosed and John's stomach instantly churned.

"I have always placed a great deal of trust in you, John" Mycroft said, his voice demeaning. "I thought I was correct to believe you would care for Sherlock especially after his delicate situation. I see my assumptions were incorrect."

"What are you talking about?" John asked in a demanding voice. His heart was racing, his whole body beginning to sweat.

"I believed truly that you and Mary had taken him under your wing. I thought you would have taken better care of him" Mycroft said. John felt like he was being scolded, and rightly so, but fear was churning inside John's belly and he couldn't stand the suspense.

"Stop talking in damn circles and tell me what you're talking about" John demanded.

There was a long pause. "Sherlock is in the hospital…..again. And like the last time, it is because his distress over you and your lovely bride" Mycroft said in a scathing tone.

John felt like he'd been doused in cold water. The guilt that he felt was overwhelming as the image of Sherlock lying pale and ill in the hospital filled his head. "Did he overdose?" John asked, not even embarrassed when his voice trembled.

"Not quite" Mycroft said, "He tried to kill himself"

John felt the room closing in around him. The walls were spinning around him and he fell heavily into his armchair as his legs gave out from under him. He could hear Mary distantly walking up behind him but he couldn't move enough to turn around and look at her.

"It seems that whatever falling out you and Sherlock had was distressing enough that he fell back on the drugs" Mycroft accused John. "Must have been desperate because he went to great lengths to get them and outsmart me. I believe the drugs were really his only intention in the beginning but apparently he succumbed to the pain. For once I'm thankful he was stoned; if he was sober, he would have succeeded. The cocaine made him sloppy enough that he cut at his wrists shallow enough that it took too long for him to bleed out, making it possible to get to him in time."

Mary was behind him, putting her hands on his shoulder but John felt like he was drowning. His throat felt tight and burning and he felt like he couldn't breathe. This was worse, so much worse than John would have imagined. For a moment John's mind rejected it; this _couldn't_ be happening. It was simply too horrible to imagine. But it was…..no matter how much John didn't want to believe it, it wasn't true. He could tell in Mycroft's voice….finally, something had made Mycroft care. Sherlock had tried to kill himself and it was John's fault; even Mycroft was rightly accusing him.

"I'll be there as soon as I can" John said, his anguished mind struggling to come to terms of what he could possibly do to make this terrible misfortune right.

"Do Sherlock a favor, John. If you aren't committed to staying with him forever, then don't come" Mycroft voice was even deeper and more demandeing. He sounded truly the part of big brother. "If you're going to leave him again, if there is even a hint that you are not going to rectify this and commit to him forever then do not even come. It would do more harm than good."

John felt a vein of anger run through him, exasperated by his sorrow. "Listen, here, Mycroft" he said, shaking and trembling. "I made a mistake; a horrible, awful mistake but it was a mistake none the less. I said some things that I didn't mean and Sherlock ran out before I could make amends. But make no mistake…I love Sherlock with all of my heart and I will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to make this right."

John was still shaking as he hung up the phone; he was angry, furious…..at himself. Mycroft had every right to worry about Sherlock and worry that John was somehow not right for him; look at the pain he'd already put him through. But it had been an honest to God mistake…if he'd had any inkling that Sherlock would take it so hard he never would have handled it that way. _I love Sherlock with all of my heart…_ John could admit those words to Mycroft and yet he had never even said them to Sherlock. Why hadn't he? Sherlock, the man who supposedly had no heart, had told him he loved him twice, once in the throes of passion, and John had not managed to say it back once. When he saw him again, he would not make that mistake again.

"John?" Mary's voice prodded him gently. When he turned around toward her, her face was a mask of worry and anguish. John didn't even want to tell her; he hardly wanted to admit what he had done…..what he had caused Sherlock to do. But it wasn't like he could keep the awful truth to himself.

"Sherlock's in the hospital" John said, forcing his voice to remain calm when all he could think about was blood running from Sherlock's veins. He was haunted by the scars he'd seen on Sherlock's body and how lovingly he'd treated them, how he had worried about what had put them there. Now, he had added to them in the worst way possible.

"Sherlock tried to…..kill himself" John said, his breath threatening to freeze inside his chest at the horribleness of the situation.

Mary's hand went to her mouth as she turned pale. "Oh my god…is he going to be alright?" she asked, looking horrified.

"Physically…probably" John said miserably. "They found him before he bled out. But mentally….emotionally…who knows?"

"That's terrible" Mary said, looking shocked. She came around to the front of John's chair, sliding into the small available space beside him. Instantly, John found himself enveloped in her arms. Mary hugged him tightly and he was reassured by her warmth, her sweet smell and the small round baby belly that pressed up against him. He'd been trying to do everything right and he had done everything wrong.

"This is my fault" John said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in Mary's shoulder. "I made him do this"

"You can't take the blame for this" Mary assured him, running a comforting hand along his back. "Sherlock is a very emotional, sensitive person; he needs help. The trauma of his life has made him very untrusting. We'll have to assure him very much of how we feel about him to. He had made progress…he can make progress again. But I think this is a wakeup call that he needs more help."

John thought of the psychiatrists that would likely be speaking to Sherlock and trying to help him; John knew Sherlock would hate every minute of it. "I just can't help thinking if I had remained calm and handled it better…he would never have left." John said.

"There's nothing to do about that now" Mary said reasonably. "We can't change the past. All we can do now if focus on the future and what we can do for Sherlock now. Alright? Let's talk this through and then we'll go visit him and try to make things better."

John felt so sick to his stomach he wanted to vomit, if only to earn a small moment of relief. Numbly, he nodded. "Alright" he said.

….

In the cab on the way to the hospital, John couldn't help but relive the day he met Sherlock. He didn't know why it kept cropping up into his mind; maybe he needed something to hold onto that was happy. But whatever the reason, he kept reliving that day in his mind.

January 29th…John recalled the day better than any birthday or anniversary; not a year went by that he didn't notice the day and feel it with foundress. In a way it was one of the most important anniversaries of his life; it was the first time that Sherlock had saved his life. _"You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."_ Sherlock had said to him in string of deductions about John within hours of meeting that stunned him. Though he'd been wrong about Harry being a man which seemed to bother him to no end, at the heart of it, Sherlock had really been getting down to the real problem; John had been wounded in service and upon returning home had absolutely no where to go. His only family wanted nothing to do with him and all his friends were either still in service or had been killed in action. When he had run into Stamford, he hadn't the faintest idea how important that meeting would be. He'd not known Stamford that well but when he said he knew someone looking for a flat mate, he'd jumped at the chance because he was desperate.

Sherlock was amazing and brilliant; charming even. He'd even called him charming in his blog, to which he got fair amount of teasing. But he was…and every day he continued to be. John had been at the end of his rope; he was barely living. He had had no purpose, no connections; he was depressed and miserable and left to his devices he could only imagine the path it would have led him on. But Sherlock had saved his life; Sherlock thought he was sentimental when he said this but it was true. He gave him excitement and purpose and a life that he couldn't imagine giving up.

The first day they'd known each other, John had saved his life in turn. He couldn't believe it when he had seen Sherlock about to take that pill out of bloody curiosity; there was no doubt in his mind Sherlock would have done it too. He would gamble with his life just to prove he'd been right at the expense of dying if he was wrong. John had thought maybe Sherlock had some of that recklessness with life that John had had, not that concerned really if he died or lived. John hadn't even thought about it when he had shot the cabbie; it was the only way to get Sherlock to stop.

It wasn't until John was standing out on the street as police swarmed in that he stopped to consider what he had done. He had killed before but that was in the army and it was always in combat; this was simply a cold hard kill. John hadn't felt guilty about it either; the only feeling he really had was extreme relief Sherlock was okay and the slight worry that he'd be caught. His fears were quickly squelched when he realized the only person brilliant enough to figure out he'd done it was Sherlock and he sure wasn't telling. They had spent the rest of the evening having Chinese and John had eaten like he'd never tasted food before.

Sherlock made John do crazy things, things he never dreamed he'd do before. He made him feel alive as they had saved each other's lives countless times. John felt a stab in the chest as he was hit with his guilt again; he'd almost killed him now. The man he'd spent years protecting and following into untold dangers had almost died from his carelessness.

John felt his life he was made of lead as he walked through the hospital to Sherlock's room. He couldn't believe that he was here again; months after Sherlock had nearly overdosed he was back at the hospital near death. John froze at the door of Sherlock's room; Mary's hand was in his own, gripping tightly and bringing him back to earth.

"It's okay, John" Mary assured him.

"I don't think I can do this….." John said, fear swelling up inside him. As much insane, dangerous things as he had done, none of it seemed the same as this. Confronting murderers bent on trying to kill him, he could do; trying to get Sherlock to understand how much he cared for him, he didn't think he could do.

"What am I going to say?" John asked, feeling his palms sweat as he simultaneously chilled.

"You tell him how you feel" Mary said, "Just be honest and tell him all of it. There's nothing else to be done…but eventually it will be enough."

John didn't see how anything could ever be fixed but he hoped that it would. Nerves knotted in his stomach and made him worry but he knew eventually he had to go into the room so he forced himself forward. He had obviously already spent too much time not telling Sherlock how much he meant to him; best not to waste any more.

When John walked into Sherlock's room he was expecting him to look much like he had the last time he was here; sleeping, sickly looking and vulnerable. He wasn't expecting the very volatile version of Sherlock that he found.

"Sherlock, stop this. You're being unreasonable; these are the doctors and they are trying to help you" Mycroft was saying as he stood next to Sherlock's bed. He looked the most frazzled John had ever seen, his hair sticking up in places, his clothes rumpled. With his pale skin and red eyes John could tell that Mycroft had been here with Sherlock all night.

"I told you to stop sending these idiots to see me; I don't need help!" Sherlock yelled. He was sitting in the middle of his hospital bed, chucking anything he could reach across the room at the doctor. He seemed strangely composed and John could only guess that this was the psychologist; he had seen things worse than Sherlock's behavior.

"Normally, I would give you the benefit of the doubt but under the circumstances I don't believe you, dear brother" Mycroft said, striving for composure. "This is the second time in less than six months you've been hospitalized for suicide attempts and it's obvious to me that is a bit much, even for you"

"How many bloody times did I tell you before? I wasn't trying to kill myself that time; you left me no choice of drugs cutting me off like you did!" Sherlock said, grabbing an available tissue box from the table and hurling it at Mycroft's head where it hit and bounced off.

"I'm trying to take care of you" Mycroft said, looking a bit desperate so much so that John felt sorry for him.

"Well, just fucking stop it!" Sherlock yelled, looking almost deranged. John wanted to believe that anger was better than sorrow at a time like this but John knew better; Sherlock's anger was covering up the real issues.

Mycroft noticed John and Mary's presence and gave them a weary smile. "Come right in; Sherlock's making a spectacle of himself as usual" he said, his voice sounding much more like its usual tone.

Sherlock froze, water bottle in hand ready to throw it. He turned around to face them, momentarily looking embarrassed that Mycroft had brought attention to his behavior. John felt his heart stop and his stomach lurch as Sherlock's eyes met his and his face paled. It was everything that John could do not to run toward him and wrap his arms around him. He knew he likely wouldn't want that so John held back no matter how hard it was. Sherlock's mouth kept opening and closing as if he didn't know what to say. With a meaningful look in his eyes, he opened his mouth finally to speak and John had a moment of hope.

"Get out" Sherlock said, his voice flat and empty. All the hope that John had felt went out the window.

"Sherlock, Mary and John came to see you" Mycroft tried to explain, as if he was explaining to a child that he was being rude.

"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!" Sherlock yelled, his face red and full of malice as his emotions took over. John was used to seeing Sherlock throw fits but he had never quite felt so upset and hurt by one before. It had never seemed so personal.

"All of you get the hell out!" Sherlock said, "You get out" Sherlock pointed to Mycroft, then the doctor, "You get out," Finally, Sherlock pointed at John, his eyes cold and full of hurt that John had been afraid of finding there. "And you…get…..OUT! Mary can stay but everyone else get out"

John felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, the wind and hope being knocked out of him. He wished Sherlock would do anything but look at him like that and tell him to leave. He could see Mary out of the corner of his eye, conflicted as to whether she should try to talk sense in Sherlock about letting John stay or if she should just console him herself.

"Let's let Mr. Holmes have some time to rest" the doctor said reasonably, with a pointed look at John and Mycroft. Mary gave John a sympathetic look as he turned to leave.

John hadn't thought that he could feel worse about the situation as he did before he came; he already felt so much guilt over how he had affected Sherlock. But as he walked slowly and miserably out the door, with Sherlock looking at him as if he hated him, with no chance to tell him just how much he really loved him, John was sure that this was really rock bottom.

….

Mary felt a bit desperate as she watched John and Mycroft leaving the room, leaving her with a fuming, angry Sherlock. She knew it was all a cover; he was suffering terribly. But she had no idea the first place to start to help him feel better. She wasn't even sure that he would listen to anything she had to say.

Sherlock scowled at the door until the men had disappeared out of it. The second that they did, Sherlock crumpled onto the bed, head in his hands weeping freely. Mary felt her heart break; undoubtly he'd been holding that in and it was obviously killing him. Mary knew she still remained the one person Sherlock felt he could really be his true self with and suddenly all her worries about what to say to him went away. She knew what to do now; what she had always done and that was to comfort him.

Mary had been on pins since Sherlock had fled from the flat, knowing he was hurting so badly. She had assumed that it was a given that he would fall back on drugs but she never imagined that he would try to kill himself. As Sherlock cried into his hands, she could see the bandages on his wrists and it made her feel like a vice had been clenched around her stomach; even the baby did a flip flop in her stomach. Sherlock was in so much pain; he had been ever since the beginning when Mary had known him. And just like in the beginning, all Mary had ever wanted to do was to make it go away from him.

Mary crossed the room and came to sit down on the bed next to Sherlock. She wrapped a tentative arm around Sherlock's back and the second that she touched him he fell into her lap, as if she the sheer relief from having contact with someone exhausted him. Mary let her hands run through Sherlock's hair, fiddling with curls and relaxing against the feel of Sherlock's warm breath against her leg. She hadn't realized how wound up she was until she began to feel all of her stress melt away as she held Sherlock.

"God…..you scared me" Mary found herself saying even though she hadn't meant to say it out loud. Sherlock was crying so loudly she doubted if he heard her at all. But it was okay either way; Sherlock had scared her. She had been terrified that something awful would happen to him and her worse nightmares almost came true.

Sherlock cried for a long time and Mary didn't bother him. She just played with his hair and let a few tears of her own slip out of her eyes, ones she hadn't wanted to cry around John for fear he'd know she was just as worried about Sherlock as she was.

When Sherlock finally began to calm down, Mary spoke. "Did you really mean to do it this time, Sherlock? Tell the truth" They both knew the unspoken words behind it; did you really mean to kill yourself this time. Months ago she'd been at Sherlock's hospital bedside and he had insisted that he hadn't taken handfuls of pills with the intention of killing himself. Now, cutting his wrists, there was no doubt he really had meant to do it.

Sherlock sat up, wiping his eyes and nose miserably on his shirt. He turned halfway away from Mary so she couldn't see his face. "Yes" was all he said. His tone and slumped shoulders showed how defeated he was.

"Why, Sherlock?" Mary asked him gently as she could. She knew he wouldn't talk if she pushed.

"I couldn't bear the thought of you and John leaving me" Sherlock said, "I didn't want to go back to being mere acquaintances, fading further and away until we barely knew each other at all. Not when I knew what we could have…..and what we did have for a time. It would be too painful…trying to hold onto something that faded further and further away."

"John and I aren't going anywhere" Mary tried to start but Sherlock cut her off.

"But John said" Sherlock started passionately and Mary cut him off.

"John didn't mean it" Mary said, "I talked to him and we wanted to talk to you but had left. John was afraid I'd have a problem with him and you being together but I don't. We all belong together, not separate…"

"But maybe he was right" Sherlock said desperately letting his head fall, staring down at the bed. "I don't want to ruin your happiness…Like I said at the wedding; you're going to have a real baby to take care of. You don't need me."

A burst of affection spread through Mary for Sherlock. Even now, after clearly stating that to him life without Mary and John was not life worth living, he would still give them up if he really thought they wouldn't be happy with him around.

Mary put her hands on Sherlock's shoulders and turned him around to face her. "You're not a baby and we do need you in more ways than you could possibly know" she said sincerely, taking Sherlock's face in her hands and placing gentle kiss to his forehead.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed at the touch. She couldn't believe it when he actually grinned slightly. "You know…..you could kiss me on the mouth, if you want" he said.

Mary laughed, giving Sherlock a small kiss on the lips; maybe Sherlock would be alright after all.


	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock hated hospitals; they were horrible, awful places where people were sick and emotional and they nagged you constantly. Sherlock couldn't stand people dictating what he ate, where he went, when he slept, poking and prodding at his body without any dignity.

Mary made it better; after pitching his infantile fit, they left him alone with Mary for a while. Mary…she was warm and smelled sweet and when he closed his eyes he could forget where they were; with his eyes closed they could very well have been at home on the couch together. She played with his hair and kissed him sweetly when he wanted her to. He loved her so much….he just wanted to stay with her and never leave.

Sherlock knew he had to talk to John but he didn't think he was ready. What would he say? What would John say? Mary had explained to him John's reservations and how they were completely unfounded. No doubt he would have explained it all himself if Sherlock had given him the chance but he didn't. He was too afraid; even now, he felt fear running through him at the prospect that John could still say something to reject him in some way. He'd face just about anything before he'd be willing to face the possibility that John Watson didn't want him.

Eventually they sent the shrinks back in to talk to him. He was politer this time, because Mary was there and watching, but he still didn't cooperate and tell them what they wanted to know. Sherlock accept, to himself at least, that he needed help. He couldn't continue to cheat death like this because one day he would succeed and succeeding would mean dying. And what good would it be for his brilliant brain to decay in the ground along with his body, food for the worms? Sherlock cringed; he was donating his body to science.

But that needed to be many years from now. He couldn't give in to his feelings allow this this to happen again. So, he tried to talk to the psychologists even though the whole time he was looking at them, he couldn't stop deducing things about them. And really…they weren't all that qualified to being helping him; he should be helping them.

Finally, gloriously, they all left. Mary was sitting on his bed and he felt unbelievably tired. Not finding a reason to resist, Sherlock closed his eyes and laid his head against Mary's breast and allowed himself to go to sleep.

He wasn't surprised when he found himself dreaming about John _. He dreamed he was in St. Bart's again, the day they met. John had walked into the room and though he'd not even spoken yet, Sherlock could tell John was someone special, someone important. He'd spouted off everything he'd noticed about John; most people were pissed about this but not John and he wanted to impress him. John had gotten stars in his eyes, as literal as that expression could be. He was very impressed by Sherlock and Sherlock counted himself lucky. Later that night, John had actually saved his life; he'd shot a man without a single thought about it just to save Sherlock, a man he barely knew._

 _"_ _When I was just a baby my mama told me. Son,_

 _Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns._

 _But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die"_

 _That tune played itself in Sherlock's dream and he didn't know why it did but he paused at it away._

 _It was a bit appropriate though…John had killed the cabbie as if he had no emotional attachment to killing at all. John had that rare vein inside of him Sherlock saw in people occasionally…the kind of person who could kill just because it was interesting. People who could become killers if prodded and sometimes Sherlock really wanted to push that button and see where it led…_

 _Even in his sleep, Sherlock was irritated he was getting off track. He wanted to hang on to the memory of John, so loyal to him already he killed a man the first day they met but it was gone….._

 _His dream spiraled out of control until all he could catch was snippets. He was happy…he was rubbing Mary's belly and dreaming of babies, he was curled up next to John in bed, he and Mary were on couch watching bad films and laughing, he was running through the streets of London with John, he was back in his memory the night he kissed John along with Mary, devilishly pushing him to watch him melt….._

 _Even Mycroft was in his dream but it wasn't a good thought; he was pulling him out of the crack house and Sherlock's eyes were fuzzy. He couldn't see much but there was blood on Mycroft's suit, on his chest and he was saying Sherlock's name but Sherlock couldn't answer him. He tried to hold onto Mycroft as he pulled him from the dirty building but his hands felt like they couldn't work well and that's when he saw the blood on Mycroft was from him._

 _…_ _._

John had lost track of how much time he had sat in the hospital waiting room, waiting for Mary to return but he knew it was far too much time. The last thing he'd wanted to do was leave; he wanted to make this all better and he couldn't do that if Sherlock wouldn't even look at him. But he'd been so distraught he had no choice; he couldn't reason with Sherlock when he was like that. All he could hope was that Mary could soften Sherlock up and get through to him; she'd always been able to do that so there was hope she could now. Sherlock had specifically asked for Mary to stay so that was a good sign. John tried not to be offended by it; Sherlock's picking Mary over him. Mary was comforting and motherly toward Sherlock whereas John was a brash prick who had broken his heart. It wasn't a hard choice.

Mycroft had paced along with John in the waiting room for a while before he insisted on speaking with Sherlock's doctors; John hadn't seen him since. For what felt like hours, he just sat there as people came and went, wishing there was something he could do. John practically leapt from his chair when he saw Mary return.

"What happened?" John asked hurriedly. It had been far too long since someone had informed him of anything and he had to know.

Mary looked tired; she was slumped and her eyes were getting circles around them but she managed to smile at him. "I explained the mix up to him" she said, "but obviously, it really needs to come from you. Sherlock is far more loyal and considerate than we ever gave him credit for and he needs to know we are both one hundred percent okay with all of this. Go talk to him; I'll wait out here."

"Did he say I could come in?" John asked. Something about Mary seemed hesitant and the last thing John wanted was for Sherlock to throw him out again.

"He said he wasn't sure he was ready but I told him, in a kind way, to get over it. He said he'd try" Mary said with a grin.

John smiled as he relaxed into a hug with Mary. "You always have the perfect touch, don't you?" he asked, kissing her neck below her ear.

"Sure…thought you'd know that by now" Mary teased. She took the seat that John had vacated and John knew there was only one thing left for him to do.

John forced himself to walk quickly down the hallway for fear he'd loose his nerve if he took too long. When John got to Sherlock's room, he burst in without time for a second thought or to obsess over the dryness of his throat or the thumping of his heart.

Sherlock was sitting on his bed, staring out the window and he seemed startled by John's sudden appearance. He jumped slightly, looking at John with a mixture of fear and something else John couldn't place in his face. John shouldn't have been surprised when Sherlock curled up on his side, eyes closed, trying to pretend John wasn't there. Sherlock was excellent at shutting down. He'd been shutting John out for years and likely everyone else for his entire life.

John walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. It felt a bit disconcerting to have Sherlock's back to him but maybe it was better that way; if Sherlock was quiet and pretending to ignore him it might be easier to get the words out that he needed to.

"I know you're really upset with me, Sherlock and you have every right to be. But I need to tell you some things…some things that I should have told you a long time ago and it's my fault I never said then until now. So…even if you lay there and ignore me, I'm going to keep talking because I know you can hear me and that's all that matters."

John was secretly hoping that Sherlock would be so set on arguing that he would turn around at that. When he didn't, John just sighed and steeled himself onward.

"Okay…so you're going with ignoring me. That's fine…I probably deserve it" John went on. He was actually stunned when Sherlock didn't agree to that.

"I'm sorry about what I said, Sherlock" John plowed on. "When I said that it would be better if we all went back to the way things were, I didn't mean it. I don't even actually think that's possible; we could never just forget this all happened. We have all been changed so much by this that we could never go back to the way we saw each other months ago. What I said was rash and I didn't mean it all.

"I don't know what Mary told you; she said she explained some of what happened. When you and I…..when we slept together…if affected me a lot. I know it probably came off like I regretted it or that I didn't like it. But the problem was I was so overwhelmed with how strongly I did feel about it. I wanted it….I wanted you but I was worried about how Mary would feel about it. I was afraid one day she would force me to choose and….if forced to choose there would be no way that I could ever not choose you. I knew I would choose you and that scared me."

It wasn't easy for John to admit and this was a moment where he was glad that Sherlock actually wasn't looking at him. Though it was probably exactly what Sherlock wanted to hear, it wasn't easy for John to admit. He would give up anything and everything for Sherlock. He would do anything for Sherlock; he always had and he always would. That kind of influence was a bit startling but it was there all the same.

"I did not want to one day make the choice between my family and you….and choose you" John continued, sure now that Sherlock wasn't going to turn around and look at him no matter what he said. "I didn't want to be that kind of man. But I thought I would be….I talked to Mary as soon as you and I argued and she assured me that she would never force me to choose between her and you. She loves you, Sherlock and she would never want to put an end to what we are doing. You are part of our family and she and I never want you to go anywhere."

John placed his hand tentatively on Sherlock's arm; while he didn't flinch away, he didn't make any show that he noticed the touch either. John forced himself not to give in and touch Sherlock anymore; it was obviously not that welcome.

"When you get out of here, please come home with us" John continued, feeling emotion building up inside his chest that he pushed past to get the words out, "Your home is with me and Mary; I know home doesn't feel like home without you. I would not make it without you, Sherlock. I know I've made a lot of mistakes…but I love you, Sherlock. I know I should have told you that a long time ago but I do. I didn't say it but I always felt it and I feel it now. Mary loves you, I love you…please…forgive me for what I did. I love you and I will spend the rest of our lives showing you how much I mean it"

John wanted to hear Sherlock say it back; he wanted nothing more than for Sherlock to wrap his arms around him, telling him how much he loved him too. It wasn't unexpected when Sherlock still didn't move and John was sure that part of him even deserved this. Sherlock had been through a lot because of John and it wasn't surprising that one apology didn't make it magically better. But part of him wished that it did.

When Sherlock remained as stoic as ever, John stood up from the bed and walked out of the room. He wouldn't push Sherlock no matter how much he wanted to; previous experience told him that pushing Sherlock only caused things to end badly. When he didn't want to do something, not a soul on earth would get him to. And after all of the damage he had done, John would give him all of the space that he needed even if it killed John inside.

John was dejected as he walked down the hallway back toward the waiting room. It hadn't gone as poorly as it could have but it hadn't gone as well as it could have either. He could see Mary watching him as he made his way closer to the waiting room. His eyes were firmly locked on her when he heard Sherlock's voice behind him.

"John! Wait!"

John felt his heartbeat leap into his throat as he heard Sherlock's desperate voice calling out behind him. In one second, he had whipped around and saw Sherlock shuffling down the hallway toward him with surprising speed. His face was flushed; if John didn't know better he'd say Sherlock looked desperate.

"Wait, John! Don't go!" Sherlock said, almost running toward John now. He was obviously oblivious to the people standing around staring at him and ran the risk of knocking over a few people but he obviously didn't care. His eyes were wide and panicked, locked on john.

It was quite the contrast to the stoic man he'd seen a moment ago; clearly that was all an act. John knew it was but he couldn't help the excitement that he felt seeing Sherlock run toward him.

John rushed forward, arms outstretched as Sherlock met him. Sherlock immediately fell into his arms, smacking into John toughly as he put his arms around John's neck. Sherlock buried his face in John's neck and John felt his tension like a wave roll out of him. Everything was going to be fine…like Mary had said, eventually, everything would be fine. Sherlock felt so warm, and alive and real in John's arms; John almost felt his breath be stolen away.

"I heard everything you said. I love you too, John" Sherlock said in hurried, desperate voice. "Please don't go; stay with me. Stay with me and never ever go"

John's heart felt like it was breaking and repairing at the same time. Sherlock's open vulnerability, the need for him and Mary was so desperate and John found that he couldn't help but love it. He wanted Sherlock to want them and need them. The realization that Sherlock wasn't going to stay mad at him made relief course through John like a drug.

"I'm never going to leave you" John promised, hugging Sherlock tightly to his chest. "I promise I'm not going anywhere."

…

The next few days John spent almost exclusively at the hospital with Mary at Sherlock's bedside. John was anxious to get Sherlock out of the hospital and back at home where he belonged; for a doctor, he sure hated hospitals and they became unendurable places when Sherlock was the one in them. But he wanted to know, as did Mycroft's ever watchful eye, that Sherlock was out of the clear before he allowed him to go home. John resented the way Mycroft seemed to micromanage everything as if John and Mary couldn't be trusted but John did feel in a way that was fair too though he didn't want it to be.

Sherlock was doing alright, physically. His injuries were shallow and healing well; even so John felt sick every time he saw them and knew what put them there. He had drug withdrawals to contend with but at this point Sherlock knew what to expect and what was coming; that didn't exactly make it any easier to deal with but at least he knew the best ways to manage the pain and symptoms. It was really his mental state that was the reason he was still in the hospital. He seemed alright on the outside but everyone that knew him knew that Sherlock could hide his pain well; too well in fact. John was stunned when Sherlock agreed to begin seeing a counselor on a regular basis. He knew that was all Mary's doing; for whatever reason, she seemed to be able to get him to do just about anything. Whatever the reason, Sherlock was now seeing a psychologist and that made everyone feel more at ease. Sherlock still refused to even consider any kind of medication because it would affect his deductive abilities but the fact that he would talk to a professional about his problems was a huge step.

Sherlock was cooperating because Mary and John wanted him to and because he wanted to get out quicker but John could tell that he was miserable being at the hospital. He asked Mycroft incessantly if he could go home and was clearly upset when told that he couldn't. After the third day, having asked for about the hundredth time, Sherlock clearly couldn't take it anymore; when Mycroft said he couldn't go home yet, Sherlock upset his lunch tray which he hadn't touched, causing the whole thing to fall into the floor. Sherlock started to kick the items across the floor before his face turned red and, visibly shaking, he crouched down to clean up the mess. He was trying his best to appear 'normal' and it wasn't that easy; he wasn't normal.

Sherlock was trying to appear cool and collected but John could tell that he was still feeling vulnerable. John could see the faint flicker of fear on Sherlock's face when either himself or Mary tried to leave; eventually they arraigned it so that either John or Mary was with him at all times. He was what John would even call openly clingy, at least for Sherlock. Sherlock had always seemed pretty affectionate toward Mary; they hugged and kissed and cuddled easily since the beginning. But now he was even that way toward John. He insisted on holding his hand on lying on him nearly almost the whole time he was around; it was like he had to be touching someone at all times. When he would drift off, John could tell that his dreams were troubled and John was only too eager to be his pillow.

When Mycroft finally came to Sherlock's room several days later to tell Sherlock that he could go home, Sherlock could barely contain his excitement; John was right along with him.

"Well, my dear brother, I suppose you're free to go" Mycroft said with a slight smile as he walked into the room that evening.

"Really?" Sherlock popped up from his position curled up against Mary as she'd been reading to him in bed. Genuine glee spread over his face before he seemed to regain some of his self-control. "Good…I've been in this hell hole for far too long" Sherlock said with much more composure.

"I'm glad to see that it hasn't affected your vernacular any" Mycroft said with slight sarcasm at the remark, "Though that may have something to do with other influences"

Mycroft gave John a glance, looking worried for a fraction of a moment; it was so slight that John wondered if even Sherlock noticed it.

"As long as you promise to attend all of your therapy sessions and I do mean all, you're free to go" Mycroft said, recovering.

"Thank god" Sherlock said dramatically, immediately scrambling off the bed and beginning to gather up his possessions that had accumulated over the days that he had been in the hospital.

As Sherlock busied himself with that, Mycroft leaned in toward John. "I am trusting you this time to look after him" he whispered. "It will be the last time I do so"

John felt the assumption that he would fail to keep Sherlock happy like a kick to his stomach but he didn't argue. This time he wasn't going to make a mistake. "It will be the last time you have to. I promise" John said seriously.

Mycroft actually smiled. "Good to hear. You really can be good for my brother" he said with a touch of warmth before he walked out of the room with one last look at Sherlock.

John smiled as he turned back toward Sherlock. That was all he'd ever wanted; to be good for Sherlock. From the day they had met, John had been assured of how good Sherlock was for him; the least he could do was return some of the good favor.

Sherlock already has a bag slung over his shoulder and his shoes slipped on. "Alright…..let's get the hell out of here" Sherlock said urgently.

Mary laughed from her seat on the bed. "I think Mycroft's right; you're rubbing off on him, John" she teased.

John laughed. "That's the one thing that rubs off on you? Not the eating well or the social skills I've been ingraining for years; just the cursing. I guess it could be worse" he joked.

….

Sherlock couldn't wait to get out of the hospital; he practically ran out. Actually, he had ran, as Mary pointed out; she told him to slow down when he knocked over a flower display by the gift shop and even held his hand when he didn't respond. He thought about pulling away and running out the door but Mary's hand felt good in his and then John held his other hand.

This was good…as he stepped out of the hospital, it was a like a breath of fresh air. The sun was setting, making everything red and gold in a way that he rarely appreciated, the autumn air cool and crisp. As they waited for the cab, Sherlock stood in the middle of Mary and John, hands clasped. He couldn't believe that only a few days ago he thought they would be lost to him forever; he couldn't believe that a few days ago he didn't want anything left of this life.

He had dreamed of this so many times, Sherlock realized as he stood there with Mary and John. Not this scenario, certainly but the feelings behind it. How many times had he dreamed he was held by Mary and John, that he felt so completely loved and secure with them? At last count it was at least 47 times and he was pretty good at keeping track.

On the ride back to 221B Sherlock felt his stomach churning with more emotions than he usually felt. He was used to feeling a single emotion with extreme strength; anger, sorrow, elation. But he wasn't used to this mixture he felt now. He was happy, even excessively so; he was so happy to be out of the hospital, so happy to be going home. But at the same time he felt nerves churning inside him; what did he have to be nervous about? He was going home and home meant being with Mary and John. What could be bad with that? Sherlock couldn't quite place it but every time he looked at Mary or John he felt that small stirring of anxiety that he was so unaccustomed to feeling. On top of all that all, he felt a need to hold and touch Mary and John as much as he possibly could, even with the nervousness. It all made no sense to him; he curled up in the middle of them in the back of the cab and tried not to analyze it too much. He focused on things that were much easier like his nose in John's shirt and the peppery smell of his cologne and his hand in Mary's soft one, his finger idly playing with her wedding ring.

It was nearly dark by the time that they got home. The sky was a purplish color, stars sparkling brightly; Sherlock could kind of see why some people cared so much about the solar system and berated him for not knowing anything about it. John unlocked the door, carrying Sherlock's bag as Mary followed with Sherlock, holding his hand. He gently rubbed his head against her shoulder, only for a second so she wouldn't notice his alarmingly growing clinginess; he pushed too much though because Mary turned her head and smiled at him. It was okay though because she kissed him on the forehead and that was worth her thinking he was being a bit clingy.

"I think someone's ready for a bit of a cuddle" Mary said with a smile, giving Sherlock's hand a squeeze as they walked into their flat.

John had thrown down the bags and tuned around to see Sherlock's head still cuddled on Mary's shoulder. Sherlock thought about moving until he saw John smile widely at the sight. "Good thing we're home then. That hospital bed wasn't even close to being big enough for the three of us. We might actually sleep good night" he said with a grin.

Sherlock felt a flush of pleasure. He hadn't slept well the entire time he was in the hospital; it was all upsetting and he had grown used to the warmth and softness of Mary and John next to him as he slept. To hear that John felt the same thing made him happier than he thought it should have. "Maybe we could even go to bed early?" Sherlock suggested, trying to shrug. That always made people think you weren't being that serious. The idea of being held by Mary and John in bed, maybe even kissing, made Sherlock warm up and but he tried to hide it.

"I think going to bed early is a great idea; I think we could all use some extra rest" Mary said.

"We can even go now if you'd like…you know" John said. He was smiling but he shrugged too and it made Sherlock smile. Was he trying to appear not to care as well?

"Yes…..let's do that" Sherlock said, already pulling Mary toward the bedroom, his hand growing clammy. He was excited about finally being able to be alone with Mary and John but at the same time he felt that nervousness beginning to increase inside him. Interesting…

As they passed the bathroom, Sherlock paused for a second. His heart was beating much faster than normal, racing almost, and it was giving him the sensation that he was about to burst from his skin from excitement. But he was aware of the fact that he hadn't had a proper shower since he went to the hospital and his pyjamas were days old. He could smell his own scent a little too keenly; not in an unpleasant way exactly but if he could smell it then Mary and John certainly would be able to too and that bothered him. He usually put so much care into his clean and crisp appearance. It shouldn't have mattered how he smelled just to go to sleep but somehow it did.

"Ah…..can I get a shower first? The hospital's bathroom wasn't exactly the best. I think I'd feel better if I did." Sherlock said hesitantly. He hoped John and Mary wouldn't go to bed without him. He rather enjoyed that moment when they all slipped into the bed together.

Mary and John exchanged a smile on either side of him. Their gazes held something conspiratorial in them and Sherlock couldn't place it. It drove him a bit mad that he couldn't understand what they were trying to pass silently between them.

"We could join you" John said with a smile. His lips were twitching as if he was trying not to smile and his eyes were dilated which didn't make much sense to Sherlock; that was usually a sign of arousal.

Sherlock couldn't help the desire to roll his eyes. "John, please…..I am not an invalid. I'm capable of washing my own body." Sherlock said. "I know I was just in the hospital but-"

Mary was the one that cut him off. She gave him that soft, caring look; it was a motherly look but one that suggested that Sherlock did not understand something important. "No, Sherlock. John and I could join you. Not because you need help but because we want to" Mary said slowly so Sherlock would understand.

But he still didn't. "But why would you want to?" Sherlock asked. "I mean we'd just be…oh. Oh…"

 _Oh…._ John and Mary wanted to shower with him. He could see it now; John and Mary had showered together before. Sherlock also knew that they had done more than that in the shower before too.

"We don't have to. We just thought it might be nice to care for you in that way, though we understand you're fully capable of showering by yourself" Mary explained, interpreting his silence as a bad thing.

But it wasn't a bad thing; Sherlock had just been taken by surprise. No one had ever offered to do that for him. Sex had always been perfunctory with no intimacy of really any kind. Mary and John had broken the mold for him for everything related to personal relationships and this just added to it. Their helping him wash up seemed so intimate it normally would have made him run for the hills with anyone else; with them it was perfect. The realization that he would see John and Mary without their clothes made him warm up in an entirely different way.

"No…..no I do want that. That would be…..nice" Sherlock said. Nice seemed such an inadequate word but it was all Sherlock could think of to say with his throat so dry and tight.

"Okay then….."John said. It seemed that John's emotions were as mixed up as Sherlock's were. He was grinning and looked happy but he was blushing heavily and shifting his weight nervously.

Sherlock walked to the shower as soon as they were all in the bathroom, sprinting nervously ahead before Mary stopped him. "You just stay there. I'll get the shower. John will help you undress." she insisted with a grin, her hand on Sherlock's chest. He could feel her warmth through his t-shirt and he shivered despite it.

Sherlock felt the smallness and heat of the room very keenly as Mary went to the shower. He could have argued or sought to take control in some way but it oddly didn't even really occur to him. "Okay….."Sherlock's voice was shaky as he turned from Mary to John.

John was biting his lips, his cheeks still red. He looked nervous but he didn't pause. As the room began to fill with steam as Mary turned the shower taps on, John grabbed the hem of Sherlock's t-shirt and pulled it over his head. John had undressed him before, the night of their ill planned tryst but somehow this seemed different. John was careful, gentle, as if Sherlock might break as he worked the shirt over his head and then pulled his pyjama bottoms down off his hips, letting them pool in the floor.

John's eyes raked over him in an obvious way but Sherlock didn't comment on it, nor did it bother him. Where other people's ogling was downright annoying, Sherlock found it sent a shuddered through him when John did it. He thought about how appreciative John was of his body the night he had slept with him and it made him feel attractive rather than like the freak he often did. People often seemed to think he was attractive clothed but not so much when he was naked.

John didn't say anything which Sherlock found strange; John was not often silent for this long. His eyes were on Sherlock's as he shed his own jumper, button down and jeans. Sherlock tried to hold his gaze but he found that his eyes kept drifting to other parts of John. He knew that John had his own worries about his body but Sherlock found them to be unwarranted. John wasn't in as good of shape as he had been in the army which he was sure bothered him but he was still fit. His stomach was a little soft but in a way that was delightful for hugging and his arms were still defined and strong. And though Sherlock hadn't told him, his penis was larger than normal for someone of his size; he snickered a bit as he thought it about, especially what he had done with it a week ago.

"You two can stare at each other all night or you can get into the shower. I know it's a hard sight to tear your eyes away" Mary teased, looking generously over John and then Sherlock. He felt himself flush at Mary's gaze; she had never seen him naked before.

"Yes, but what about you?" Sherlock asked. He must have been too blunt because Mary and John both laughed.

"I'm not as chiseled as the two of you but yes, I'm coming too" Mary said with an appreciative pat of his chest.

It had been a while since Sherlock had seen a woman naked; it had been a long time since he even wanted to. Mary threw off her clothes with none of the self-consciousness he and John had and Sherlock thought that was appropriate; Mary was not shy.

"Wow…" the word was out of Sherlock's mouth before he could stop it. For a long time Sherlock's attraction to John was so all consuming he didn't even notice anyone else's attractiveness; he thought he was probably gay because women never compared to John. But as Sherlock couldn't stop himself from admiring the curves of Mary's hips or her full bum, her beautiful breasts and the gorgeous way her stomach had started to swell from the pregnancy of her and John's baby Sherlock felt undeniably NOT gay. Mary and John were both stunning in their own ways.

Mary laughed at Sherlock's unabashed appreciation and he turned toward John, worried for a fraction of a second that he was being TOO appreciative. John just laughed. "Wow is the exactly the word you're looking for" John said good humoredly, leaning toward Mary to give her kiss. Sherlock watched them appreciatively before they each took one of his hands and pulled him into the shower.

Sherlock had thought that in a multi-person shower everyone washed but he could see clearly that point of this shower was just for him to get clean…..among other things, it seemed. It was surprising but surprising in the way that he actually liked.

The steam from the shower clouded everything and made John look blurry as he leaned forward to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock didn't hesitate at all; his mouth was open at once and letting John control the kiss. God, could John kiss….John's hands were running along his arms, his tongue gently teasing Sherlock's as Sherlock could feel heat rising inside him. Was this a dream? It almost seemed like it was….such a short time ago he'd been convinced they were gone to him forever and no he was deliciously warm and wet and sandwiched between them. Unbidden, the pain of that long day in agony, alone, came to him and made him gasp, pulling off of John's lips as he was overwhelmed.

As soon as he broke free of John's lips, there were arms around him, holding him close. He relaxed into Mary's hold, her breasts pressing into his back. "Bit overwhelmed?" Mary breathed in his ear, her hands on his stomach rubbing gently. It made goosebumps form on Sherlock's skin despite the fact that he was overly warm.

"A little…not from this" Sherlock said clearly, "Just these past few days have been a bit much. Not this…this is good"

"Good" Mary agreed.

Sherlock still leaned back into Mary, content, as she began to run a flannel across his arms and chest. Sherlock was surprised at how much he shivered as the bubbles ran down his skin and off along with the hot water. Mary's attention was complete, washing each inch of Sherlock in a slow and careful manner that was both protective and titillating. She had an interesting knack for making him feel she was taking care of him, every inch of him, and at the same time like she was examining him, taking him apart bit by bit.

Then John's hands were in his hair and….oh…that was wonderful; the head should definitely be called an erogenous zone. John was not the first to appreciate his hair but he was the first person who could use it like a weapon against him. Sherlock's neck fell limp like a rag doll as he let John take complete control of his hair. His fingers moved through, scratching at his scalp and pulling roughly. He might have to let John wash his hair every time.

"Enjoying yourself, Sherlock?" Mary asked with a grin as she ran the flannel over his dick which was larger already than he expected.

Sherlock flushed with embarrassment, trying to put his hands over it but Mary slapped his hand. "I'm not used to so much…attention" Sherlock admitted.

The soap was all gone and the water was soon going to go cold; Sherlock guessed they had three minutes before there was no warm water left. But Sherlock didn't want to leave; he didn't want it to end. John wasn't washing his hair anymore but his hands were still in it, twirling wet curls in his fingers, his chest flush to Sherlock's so that he could feel the fast beat of his heart and the taut muscles. Mary was behind him, arms around him, running over his chest, down along his back. Occasionally she would let her fingers skirt over his bum; she did it like it was an accident but Sherlock knew better. He also knew some things were best not saying.

He leaned forward and let his lips connect with John's again, this time taking control. He knew it wasn't that elegant of a kiss; he was gasping and gulping at John's lips like he was drowning but John didn't seem to mind. Sherlock was drowning in a way; he'd so nearly slipped from life that everything now seemed so big and great and colorful. Everything was so vivid and exciting; it had never been this way before on his last attempts. It almost made Sherlock feel like he might cry which made no sense; when had he been this happy?

Mary finally gave up the pretense and ran her hands over Sherlock's arse in earnest. Her lips touched his back, in between his shoulder blades, his shoulders, his neck, leaving behind shivers and electricity. He felt everything so much and everything was so good.

"The water is cold" Mary whispered, somewhere near his neck.

"I don't care" Sherlock breathed back, taking a momentary breath from John. If they left the shower then all of this might be over. All the touching and care and warmth…some people were funny like that; take away the heat as an excuse for getting a hot head and they acted more reasonably. Really, he knew that wasn't the case with John and Mary but he couldn't help the tremble of nerves that threatened to get him again.

"It's too cold…..let's get out" Mary said again.

"Don't want to" Sherlock said. His head was dizzy as Mary and John both pulled away. They exchanged another one of those loaded looks. Sherlock trembled slightly, wondering what it meant; he knew what it meant deep down and that made him shake all the more.

"Let's go to bed, Sherlock" John said, his hand on Sherlock's cheek as he looked into his eyes.

It was as Sherlock suspected; as it always was. "All of us?" Sherlock said with a shiver down his back.

"All of us" Mary said behind him and when he turned around, she was smiling at him.

 _We are finally past all of the angst. Things are looking good from here :) If you have stuck around this long, I think you'll be pleased ;)_


	24. Chapter 24

_This goes without saying but this chapter is adult. As in thousands of words of pure smut :) Enjoy!_

Sherlock was mildly terrified; it was strange how something that could make you so excited could also be so frightening. Sherlock had been thinking about the possibility of sleeping with John and Mary ever since she had proposed the idea. If he was honest with himself, he had pictured it before that too but in a detached way, as something that would never happen. Now that it was very possibly happening, Sherlock wasn't sure exactly how to act.

Sherlock let them continue to lead him. Being submissive wasn't his usual thing but he felt so unsure and vulnerable that it was nice to let Mary and John take the lead. As they got out of the shower and he saw them exchanging looks between them, ones with dark eyes and understanding smiles he realized that they must have discussed this; they had to have. Sherlock felt a shiver of excitement at the prospect that they had discussed what they would do to him and he wondered deeply what exactly they had said.

They dried Sherlock off first. Mary dried off his hair and torso while John crouched down to dry off his bottom half. When Sherlock looked down and saw John looking up at him from his spot on his knees, he felt a shudder run through him. The sight of John in front of him on his knees was enough to arouse him and he could already feel himself growing.

"Ah, look John. He's going to be so responsive. Just looking at you is getting him hard" Mary remarked happily as if she was commenting on something unimportant.

Sherlock could feel his whole face turn hot at the remark. John's attention was fully turned toward him and he was obviously pleased. "That is the reaction I was hoping to have." John said. He smiled up at Sherlock and kissed along the inside of his leg but stopped before he reached his cock; it was torture and Sherlock loved it.

"You two have discussed me at length" Sherlock blurted out, his voice high pitched as John moved away, an inch from him. He and Mary began to dry themselves off, their eyes keen on him.

"Good observation, Sherlock" Mary said, "We have."

"You thought this would happen...tonight?" Sherlock tried to keep the question out of his voice but it was still slightly there. He wasn't complaining; in fact he would have broken out of the hospital days ago if he knew.

"Well, we didn't plan a day or anything. We just knew it would be good for us all to come together" Mary said seriously before laughing, "You and John already had each other; how long did you expect me to sit on the sidelines."

Sherlock smiled, despite the connotations of his and John's incident; it was nice for it to all be cleared up. "I don't know what you want me to do" Sherlock said bluntly. He wasn't inexperienced. In fact he thought he was pretty good sexually due to his ability to notice details others didn't. But this was different; he didn't just want to be good. He wanted to be the best because that was what they deserved.

"Do you want to do it?" John asked. He took Sherlock's hands and looked into his eyes with such a kind look Sherlock felt like he might melt into the floor.

"Of course I do" Sherlock said simply, squeezing John's hands back.

"Then…don't worry about what you have to do. Let John and I take care of you" Mary said. Sherlock couldn't resist the urge to lean over and hug Mary. The tighter he squeezed her the more he could feel her breasts pressing against his chest; hugging without clothes was remarkably different.

Sherlock started to shiver as they walked from the bathroom to his bedroom as they cold air hit his bare skin. Mary held onto one hand and John held onto the other one; Sherlock felt complete between them. Just as no one had ever bothered him with anything as intimate as showering together, no one had ever really made him feel safe during sex. It was always with someone he barely knew in some furtive meeting that was over before he could fully process what had happened; that's why he had quickly lost interest in it. With Mary and John he could already tell this would be different.

Sherlock was hesitant, watching them carefully as they walked into the bedroom. Mary led Sherlock over to the edge of the bed, making him sit down and taking a spot behind him. Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat as John knelt in front of him.

"John and I missed you so much" Mary whispered, her lips on Sherlock's ears, "We want to share you tonight; can we do that, Sherlock?"

Sherlock found words left him so he just nodded vigorously which made Mary laugh, warm breath on his neck. A second later her lips were on his neck, pulling on his pressure point like he was trying to pull the blood out of it. It was a burst of sensation, quickly followed by the sensation of John's breath on his cock. When he looked down, John gave him a glance, almost a smirk, before wrapping his lips around Sherlock and taking him in his mouth.

God…..they could own him. Mary and John could have him on a leash, on a silver platter, under their feet if they wanted to; did they have any idea? Surely they had to have some idea how much he needed them; especially Mary. He needed them as his family; he needed them to love him. He wanted them to take care of him; some part of him wanted to be their baby if it meant they never left him. He loved them and he desired them. He needed this; he needed their bodies and needed them to need him. He needed them completely, desperately and in every way possible.

Sherlock's body was exploding with sensations, hard to catalog everything that was happening to him. Mary was pulling on him, her teeth and lips rough against his skin; he thought about the night she and him had shared John like this and felt a wave of heat. John's tongue was doing things to him that made him absolutely incomprehensible. John's tongue moved up and down his length, sucking tentatively, teasingly. Sherlock's hands were in his hair, gripping, resisting the urge to plunge John's head down on his cock.

"He's a right tease, isn't it?" Mary asked, licking Sherlock's ear and making him gasp.

"I didn't think he was" Sherlock gasped, his breath stolen as John sucked hard on the tip and his hips reflexed.

"Ah, then he wasn't the last time?" Mary asked with a laugh. Her hands went into his hair and he thought it was a wonder he didn't come just then.

What was the protocol for your friend's (boyfriend's?) wife asking about the blowjob techniques he used on you? Sherlock didn't take time to analyze it before answering; he didn't have the brain power for it now. "No…..he was quite quick. Or rather…..I was" Sherlock stuttered out. John alternated between gentle licks and strong sucks, watching Sherlock's reactions. John was quite a quick study when it came to his technique; he showed no hesitancy in the newness of the experience. Heterosexual my ass; Sherlock had never believed it. His relationship with Sherlock might be his first with a man but the interest had always been there.

"And why was that?" Mary asked, so low in his ear that he was sure that John wouldn't have been able to hear it.

Sherlock's head fell back on Mary's shoulder, finding it hard to breathe. "I wanted him so badly; I had for so long. I couldn't last long" Sherlock said unabashedly. What was the point of holding back now? John and Mary were spreading him open completely; there wouldn't be any secrets after tonight, he could see.

Sherlock had thought that John couldn't hear them but the small laugh against his cock told him otherwise. As if rewarding him, John leaned further down on his cock, sucking hard as he pulled up tantalizingly slow.

"Fuck….. me…John!" Sherlock gasped out. He was so close, so close to an orgasm he could feel it but John could too. Somehow he could because he knew how to change his technique to keep Sherlock away from it.

"That is what we are trying to do, Sherlock" John said cheekily, popping of him for a moment.

"Ah, he's got a sense of humor" Sherlock said just as cheekily. "A second ago you had my cock in your mouth and you've still got a sense of hu-AH!"

Sherlock was very effectively shut up as John let his teeth gently graze Sherlock painfully before licking gently. "Okay…I get it. I'll shut up; just don't stop. Please don't stop…."

"He won't finish you off; not yet" Mary whispered, her nails racking against his skull and making him hum in appreciation.

"Why?" Sherlock said, his voice coming out like a moan. All he could think about was how John had done this before; how he hadn't even flinched when Sherlock came in his mouth. It was so intimate; he hadn't been repulsed at all.

"Because I want a chance with you" Mary said fingers running along his cheek. "You're beautiful and brilliant and sweet. You're my best friend….and I love you."

Sherlock knew Mary loved him but that didn't mean he didn't feel warmth explode inside his chest at hearing her say it. Her words meant so much more than other people's did. If she said he was beautiful then he felt like he was. If she thought he was sweet then my some strange turn of events he must be at least to her. If she thought he was brilliant then he flushed with praise; he had done something right. Mary was a good, pure person; for some reason she loved him. Around her, he felt like the best version of himself.

Sherlock's lips were on Mary's at the admission. He had kissed Mary before but not like this. When he kissed John, it was full of passion and heat, biting and rough; all the years and all the things that they had been through had built up to so much raw desire. Kissing Mary had always been softer, gentler; full of trust and care. It was still there this time but the gentleness was infused with passionate bursts. Sherlock's lips slid over Mary's softly with the occasional nip from hers.

Recalling his manners (it was Mary after all), he pulled back for a second. Her eyes were heavy as she looked at him with a flushed expression. "I love you too, Mary" he said. His voice was huskier than he had thought it would be. Mary gave him a pleased grin before kissing him again.

Sherlock felt in limbo, suspended between so much pleasure and sensation. As Mary deepened the kiss and John continued his ministrations between his legs Sherlock was sure he was going to lose it. John's movements on his cock was getting faster and harder, losing control; Sherlock's orgasm was at the very edge when John finally pulled off of him. Sherlock ached from the loss of sensation and he felt a moan of mixed pain and pleasure rip from his throat, muffled by Mary's mouth on his own.

Mary pulled him down on the bed, fingers twisting in his hair controlling the moves with a rough pull. Mary attempted to wrap her leg around Sherlock's, pulling him even closer to herself but almost as soon as Mary and Sherlock hit the bed, John was stealing him away from Mary. There were rough hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, pulling him away from Mary. He felt the loss of warmth on his lips for all of one second before John's lips were on his own.

Mary kissed gently, even when she was impassioned and there was a softness to her motions. That didn't mean that Sherlock's heart wasn't racing inside his chest or that he didn't feel desire in his belly like a hot pit. Some part of her was kinder than John; some part of her was vulnerable. She kissed like she had something to guard, some part of herself to protect; if Sherlock was on his true form right now he would be able to deduce preciously the string of unsatisfactory relationships that led her be subconsciously guarded but Sherlock didn't have the brain power for it at the moment; he found his blood coursing around anywhere but his brain. All that mattered was that she had John and now she had Sherlock; she would have no reason to worry about that now. While Mary was strong and needed no one to stand up for her, that's exactly what Sherlock wanted to do anytime he deduced any unpleasant feelings in her. He wanted to get rid of anything that made her anything less than happy.

John was completely different. His fastness, roughness and hard edge to his kisses showed a completely different attitude to affection. John had had plenty of failed relationships; Sherlock refrained from placing the exact number out of respect for John, lest he horrify him. He'd also had a fairly tumultuous family life and past; he had never had a serious attachment of any kind to anyone and that would be fairly alarming to anyone. John handled it better than anyone Sherlock had ever seen but it left him with an edge that hinted at anger and a need to get affection as soon as possible in any form he could. A part of Sherlock hoped that he never lost that edge; it made for mind melting snogging.

Sherlock felt like he could melt into the bed; Mary was wrapped around his back, hands running all along his body as John kissed him. He could feel sensations at an extreme sometimes and now he felt nearly overwhelmed. He could feel Mary's breath on his skin like clouds of burning air, her fingers like electricity over his skin. Everywhere John's mouth touched his own exploded with sensation; addling his mind. When Sherlock had his eyes closed all he could do was simply _feel;_ he'd never been a fan of anything that slowed his mental capacities; getting caught in his basal desires never held much appeal to him. But if this was what passion could be, if this is what it felt like to simply exist and not think then it was something that he could get used to.

John's kisses were getting more biting and rough by the moment and Sherlock could sense a deeper desperation there that was not normally there. He gripped Sherlock around the arms so tightly that it hurt, biting at his lip before pulling apart. His head rested on Sherlock's as he gasped. His hands went to cup Sherlock's face, so soft it felt like John was afraid he might disappear; the touch seemed somehow more intimate than even the very obvious feel of John's erection against his leg.

"God…I missed you so much. Don't ever scare me like that again" John said, his voice desperate and openly betraying how affected he had been by Sherlock's near death. It shouldn't have warmed Sherlock but it did. It was insane for him to think it now, but in those moments, those moments of loneliness and want and ache that had prompted him to put the blade to his skin in the first place, he had honestly believed that John and Mary would do just fine without him. But the ripping pain in John's voice told him otherwise.

Sherlock let his fingers skim over John's cheek, feeling the stubble that was trying to come up and inhaling John's musky scent. "Don't scare me like that and we will be even" Sherlock said. His words were full of meaning, full of so many unsaid things. He didn't want to say everything he could. He didn't want to tell John how scared he'd been or how hopeless he had felt when he has essentially sent him away; all of that would be implied and didn't need saying.

"Deal" John breathed, his hands beginning to travel over Sherlock's body once more, less gentle and more searching. When his hand skirted over Sherlock's belly and came to grip his cock firmly in his hand, Sherlock gasped.

"Deal" Mary agreed, next to him. She began to kiss his neck, gentle kisses at first before beginning to become more persistent. He felt overwhelmed again when he felt John begin to kiss the other side of Sherlock's neck. He had never been the subject of so much singular treatment and he was thoroughly, completely enjoying himself.

"Can we keep going, Sherlock?" Mary asked, her mouth having found his ear, licking around the curves and folds of it.

Sherlock shuddered under all the sensations. His cock had been aching for so long that he forgotten it as pain and just accepted the feel of it by now. The idea that he would actually want to stop at this point was ridiculous; he knew Mary asked to be sure even though she was fairly sure enough already.

"Whatever you do, don't stop." Sherlock said with a needy, breathy laugh.

He could feel John's hot breath on his cheek as he laughed beside him. "I believe I've heard those words before" he said, recalling Sherlock's like response the night they had given each other blow jobs. "So eager…"

Sherlock knew he was teasing, baiting him because that's what they did but Sherlock couldn't resist the urge to grab John. He wrapped his hand around John's cock, pulling hard and rough, earning him a delicious moan from John before he could stop himself.

"Ah…..who's eager now?" Sherlock said, extremely pleased with the response.

Before he had any further time to wonder about the semantics of how this was all going to go, Mary had grabbed him by the hips, prodding him on top of her. Gladly accepting the nudge, Sherlock straddled Mary's lap. Her face was open and warm, looking up at him with darkness and familiarity as he sat on top of her.

"What a sight that is….just as good as I imagined" Mary said, hands on his hips before running up and down his sides.

Sherlock felt a shudder run through him both at contact and the words. Had Mary imagined him like this? Surely she had if that's what she said; the idea that she had thought of him in anyway like this made him feel warm and dizzy.

Sherlock's hands grabbed Mary's breasts in his hands, squeezing for a second before running his thumb gently over the nipples. Mary gasped, the desire on her face increasing as she fell back against the pillows. "This is even better than I imagined. "Sherlock said honestly. There wasn't anything that could have prepared him for any of this. He'd had plenty of imaginings but even his brilliant mind could not have created this perfect feeling of being so desired.

Sherlock snapped out of his admiration of Mary's perfect womanly form when he felt lips on his back, kissing further and further down until they met the very top of his bottom and stopped. Sherlock felt his whole body ache at that. Realizing that John was so very close to him, Sherlock automatically pulled his hands away from Mary. It was a ridiculous response but one he couldn't help.

"Put your hands back" John chided him, kissing along his back, tantalizingly up and down again, "Don't get shy on us. You clearly have nothing to worry about."

It was so much different from the other encounters that Sherlock had and quite contrary all of the sexual relationships he'd witnessed in the past. Humans were very jealous and it was uncommon for people to deem it acceptable to share sexual partners. As neither Mary nor John's husband, he even now had the kneejerk reaction that he supposed to hold back; that they belonged to each other and not him. It would take getting used to but he was more than up to having some practice.

"Sherlock worry?" Mary asked, smiling at Sherlock despite her heavy lidded gaze as Sherlock toyed with her breasts. "Surely not….surely you can deduce we are as ready as you clearly are"

Before Sherlock could feel any self-consciousness drawn to his very obvious erection, Mary took one of his hands and moved it between them. He gasped as he felt his fingers touch her wet heat. "Yes….yes, I can see that" Sherlock stuttered out, surprised and more than a little aroused to see how ready she was.

"Good…..now you can relax" Mary said, with a slight catch in her voice as Sherlock began to move his fingers around Mary's folds, finding a circular motion that seemed to cause more moister to come around his fingers. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman but the way Mary withered under him and reflexively began to thrust up at him told him he was doing something right.

Sherlock was beyond relaxed; John was kissing his back and occasionally his bum, touching places no one really gave much attention to. John added his fingers to the taunting, running along the curve of his buttocks before abruptly slipping between his cheeks and finding his entrance.

Sherlock's breath hitched and he tensed again but it was tension in the best way possible. John's finger rubbed gently at first before applying more pressure; without even thinking, Sherlock found himself moving up into the touch even as Mary was moving up toward him. Sherlock did not know which sensation to give in to more. John applied gentle pressure to Sherlock's entrance, enough for Sherlock to feel that he was being entered but not enough to feel much more. Sherlock's cock twitched in appreciation and he was slightly embarrassed by the moan that came from his mouth. His fingers moved faster on Mary instinctively and he was pleased when she moaned louder than him.

"W-what….what….are you…..doing?" Sherlock managed to gasp out around his moaning.

"I thought that ought to be fairly obvious" John said, pushing a little harder on Sherlock's arse. "I mean, the signs are pretty obvious that I intend to fuck you. You have bottomed before, I take it?"

The words had such an effect of Sherlock he nearly was thrown over the edge. He should have expected where this was going but he hadn't; he blamed it on the low levels of blood left in his brain. He did expect John to be as indelicate as he was; he had heard quite some language from behind closed doors and if he spoke to Mary that way then it only made sense he'd be rougher with Sherlock. But it was still incredibly sexy; John's assumption, correctly so, that he was a bottom was hotter than he would have thought it would be.

"Y-yes" Sherlock said, his voice eager and barely articulate. He had intended to get snarky right back at John but he was simply beyond that now. He felt like putty in their hands, ready to do whatever it was they wanted and he couldn't pretend otherwise.

"Good then" John said into his ear, leaning heavier on Sherlock to get a better grip, "You'll have Mary and I'll have you; you'll be right in the middle of it all. Of course….if that's what you want. Mary and I have already discussed it."

If his could melt, Sherlock was sure that it would have at hearing that. He wished he could have been a fly on the wall for that discussion; he could imagine it well, Mary and John discussing him in such a needy and filthy way. "Yes…yes that's what I want "Sherlock didn't even have to think of it long before he was agreeing. Would he take a chance to be in the middle of John and Mary, to become part of them finally in all sense of the word? Of course he would.

"Good" John said, giving Sherlock a kiss on his neck. Sherlock couldn't help but feel like it was the highest praise. "Mary said you would say yes"

Sherlock looked at Mary who was looking at him with a wicked expression in her eyes, flushed and looking as beautiful as Sherlock had ever seen her. "Of course she did" he said, not surprised. Mary gave him a long, slow kiss on the lips that he languished in for several minutes before pulling back. Mary did know him so well, better than anyone else could possibly hope to know him.

"I take it you have some lube in here?" John asked, reaching over Sherlock to rummage through his bedside table drawer.

"Good deduction, John. Might be a little old but it's in there" Sherlock said with a nervous laugh. He was glad when John and Mary chuckled along with him.

"Just the knowledge I was right is quite surprising to me, really" John said, "I'm pleased though…I'd have hated to leave this wonderful sight even for a moment."

It really had been a quite a while; Sherlock could feel just how long as he was so sensitive to John's hand on him. But then again, no time had even come close to comparing to this so it wasn't really a comparison.

Sherlock jumped when he felt John's lubed finger began to gently press into him. His mind and body went into overdrive as he realized this was really going to happen. This wasn't a dream; this wasn't an imagining. John was really going to be inside him and he was going to be inside Mary. For so long he had longed to be part of Mary and John's life; he wanted to be so knitted close to them that they couldn't possibly do without him and now they not only loved him and cared for him, they wanted to be with him in every sense of the word. He felt emotion chock him for a moment.

John's finger was inside of him, the pressure wonderful as he began to quicken the movement and Mary's hand was around his cock, pumping fast as the realization came over him fully. "Alright, Sherlock?" Mary questioning him, seeing the emotion on his face.

"I'm wonderful" Sherlock said quickly, not wanting them to think for one second he wasn't enjoying himself. "I just….I suppose I can't really believe this is happening. That you both want me….."

Sherlock despaired that it sounded so needy and insecure as it came out but he didn't have to worry about it for very long. Mary looked at him with such love as she touched his face with her free hand and John's free arm wrapped around him, holding him tighter only made him feel more loved and cherished. "Well, you better believe it because it's true" John said, low like a purr in his ear.

"We love you" Mary said, her eyes soft and warm. "We need you."

It was all that Sherlock had ever hoped for. He'd wanted for so long to be wanted and needed in every sense of the word by Mary and John. Any ounce of worry or hesitation that he had had melted away as he was assured in one moment that everything would be okay. And for the first time in his life, he felt like everything would always be alright. At least, all of the things that really mattered…..

Sherlock let himself let go and fully enjoy everything that was happening to him. As John added fingers to his entrance as Sherlock's body responded to him, Sherlock was aware of how much noise he was making but for once he didn't care. John's fingers were moving fast but careful, as if this wasn't something completely new to him and Mary had the expert ability to pull on his cock in such a way that kept him at the edge of an orgasm without actually falling over the edge. They were completely unraveling them and they deserved to hear his embarrassingly obvious display of it.

His fingers were moving faster and more erratically between Mary's legs, her face growing more and more the picture of pleasure when she finally threw her head back with a desperate look on her face. "Sherlock…stop teasing. Get on with it" she gasped out, her eyes dark, pupils blown wide with desire.

Sherlock's name, said like that was enough to make him tremble. He knew exactly what she was implying and it was only the small round stomach pressing into his that made him stop from burying himself immediately and getting lost in the carnal desires he'd so long denied himself. "I'm not going to…..hurt you, am I?" he asked, one hand on her stomach.

He was surprised when Mary laughed. "Sherlock, you're a man of science. Surely you don't think I'm so delicate because I'm pregnant" she teased him.

"Yes, I know scientifically sex has not been shown to harm a baby during pregnancy but I was just checking" Sherlock said, feeling slightly embarrassed. It really was an ignorant worry but one he felt nonetheless.

"That's really sweet of you" Mary said, looking at him kindly, "but I assure the baby and I will be just fine."

Sherlock gasped as Mary grabbed him and guided him into her. As he pushed fully into Mary, a collective moan ran through them. Mary was so warm, wet and _perfect….._ Sherlock couldn't resist the urge to give several rough thrusts before John stalled him with a harder than necessary push of his fingers.

"Now don't you take off without me" John teased but his voice was thick with want. His breath was coming faster and hotter, making steam against his skin.

"I won't" Sherlock breathed as his cock twitched inside Mary in anticipation as he felt John's erection press in the middle of his bum. He hardly knew which sensation to press into more.

It had been so long since Sherlock had been with someone else and it had been so unremarkable that he had deleted most of the details of it. He had forgotten how intense the pressure could be when being penetrated and Sherlock gasped loudly as he felt John begin to press his cock into him.

"Is that okay, Sherlock?" John asked. There was a note of worry in his voice despite having loudly gasped out as he pushed into Sherlock.

"God yes…"Sherlock moaned before catching his breath, overwhelmed by the sensation. "You're just…big. Sorry…"

"No need to apologize. I think that's the best compliment you've ever give me" John said in a pleased voice. When Sherlock craned his neck to look behind him, John was grinning wickedly.

"Oh really, John" Sherlock tried to admonish him but he was smiling so it didn't really work all that well, "It wasn't that much of a compliment. I simply-"

Sherlock was cut off midsentence as John pushed deep into him, effectively shutting him up. His fingers dug into Mary's shoulders as they both moved from the deep thrust. "Fuck…..John! God…." Sherlock mumbled out, feeling completely incoherent. He had always thought that it seemed so uncalled for that people seemed to lose the ability to speak coherently when they had sex and now he found himself in that position. Apparently, that did happen if you were doing it right.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't get cocky" John said darkly, whispering into Sherlock's ear before giving it a bite.

Sherlock felt a shiver go down his back. Any thoughts of argument seemed to melt away at that tone and it was a rare thing to get him to not want to argue. "Yes, sir" Sherlock said, knowing John would love it and it felt somehow natural.

John did love it; he thrust into Sherlock hard again, making him curse. Maybe he had underestimated John; maybe his cock was more than a little bigger than average. He'd be delighted to know that.

It was awkward at first; Sherlock didn't know how to move. He was deliciously buried in Mary and John was buried inside of him and though he wanted to move into both directions it wasn't that easy. There were hands everywhere and he lost his grip more times than he cared for but eventually, after several minutes of fumbling around, they finally found a good rhythm.

It was so intimae; it meant so much more than what it was on the surface. That didn't mean that it wasn't the absolute hottest thing Sherlock had ever done; it surely was. All of his sexual escapades combined didn't compare to this. Watching Mary come undone beneath him, holding on to his arms as she moaned due his ministrations, while John held onto him tightly, possessively even, pounding into him roughly…it was definitely, unbelievable hot. But even more than that Sherlock was struck by the intimacy of it all. How many times had he had to suffer the burden of his deductions when it came to Mary and John? How many times had he been able to hear their sounds of passions through the walls and known exactly what they were doing? In those moments his intelligence had been a burden; knowing things and longing for them with no hope that they would ever come to pass. Now, he was not only a part of Mary and John's passion but he was right in the middle of it; he was right in the middle of the scene he had pictured in his mind so many times. He got to see their faces drawn in passion, feel the hurried beating of their hearts through his skin, felt the touch of their most intimate places…..he was a part of something that should only have been between Mary and John but they had let him in. They had wanted to let him in.

Sherlock wasn't surprised that he was the first one to feel his orgasm coming on. John was close, he could tell by his movements and breathing even though he unfortunately couldn't see his face but he was going to beat John there. He wasn't surprised; he had been brought to the edge and let down so many times that he was honestly surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Mary felt perfectly warm and tight around him and John filled him up completely, hitting his prostate in a way that had him muttering incoherently. As the wave built up inside him, he carefully worked his hand between him and Mary, rubbing directly on her clit. She called out his name in appreciation, nails digging into his arms as she held on. Sherlock felt dizzy as his orgasm washed over him, holding onto Mary like she held onto him, shaking and trembling from the rush of it all. He kept his hand moving on Mary as he spilled into her, not stopping until he could feel her contracting around him as she felt her own orgasm.

Sherlock was still dazed when he felt John put his arms around him. Now detached from Mary who was clearly spent on the bed beneath, John pulled Sherlock flush against him as he continued his last thrusts. With John's arms around him, Sherlock placed his own hands gently against John's on his chest; with a few more rough thrusts, John was gripping him harder and gasping out as he came.

They all fell onto the bed in a sweaty but happy heap. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he could have easily gone to sleep, lulled by the sounds of Mary and John's heavy breathing slowing down. He was completely spent and he knew John and Mary had to be too but he didn't want to give in quite yet. He wanted to enjoy this moment for a bit longer.

"We should have saved the shower for after this" Sherlock said after a few minutes as he felt the sweat cooling on his skin.

"I don't think I could make it to the shower if my life depended on it" John said with a tired laugh, grabbing his towel from the earlier shower off the floor and using it to wipe himself off.

"Maybe you have a point" Sherlock said, feeling the soreness in his bottom. He was going to feel a pleasant burn for a few days he could already tell. When John handed him the towel he gratefully took it to wipe himself off. They were all already strewn with each other's fluids so it hardly mattered that it wasn't a clean towel.

"We should definitely save it for the morning though" Mary said cheekily, curling up on her side to face them, a hand automatically over her belly, yawning widely.

"I think that would be quite a delightful way to start the day" Sherlock said, already smiling at the thought of it. "And John can make us breakfast"

"Why me?" John tried to argue but it was cut off by a massive yawn.

"Because your breakfast is the best" Sherlock said with heavy sweetness in his tone. Really, Mary cooked better and they all knew it but he wanted to save her the work. She was the one creating a human inside her body after all.

"Kiss ass….." John said with a grin. He didn't argue though and Sherlock felt that was a victory.

Sherlock didn't feel any differently, he realized as he lay there in a post-orgasm haze. He had thought after they all slept together, he would feel a lot differently. He had worried that things would be awkward; he thought things might feel strange between them all. It was enough that at times he wondered if they should even add this element to their relationship. He was glad to see now that all his worries were unfounded. They were still his John and Mary…he still loved them, they were still his closest friends, they were still much more than friends….this was just a wonderful extra.

Sherlock grabbed Mary and John's hands in his own, not recalling a time he had felt so happy and at peace. He knew part of that was the chemical cocktail that flooded your brain after an orgasm; but that wasn't the biggest part, he was surprised to see. The biggest part was that he had told them he loved them, let them see how much he needed them, had had every part of them and let himself be seen at his most vulnerable and they had run away. They hadn't pushed him away; they had welcomed him and all the most important things hadn't changed.

"So…..that was something, wasn't it?" Mary's voice was happy but cautious. When Sherlock looked at her, he could see that she was watching him and John to see how they would react. After what had happened when Sherlock and John slept together she was no doubt apprehensive that there would be a similar incident. She had nothing to worry about.

"You were spectacular, dear, just spectacular" Sherlock said flatteringly but he meant it. He kissed her hand and smiled as he saw the pink flush on her cheeks. "You were everything I could possibly want. Beauty and attentiveness no one else could have; you could thoroughly be my undoing if you wanted to."

"I will have to keep that in mind" Mary said with a sly wink.

"I'm sure you will" Sherlock said. He followed Mary's gaze to John who was staring at him. Normally he could read so much on John's face; he was so much an open book. Now all he could see was a contented smile on John's face. Apart from the obvious satisfaction, Sherlock couldn't see anything else.

Sherlock didn't tell John he was beautiful or amazing or sweet; he was all of those things to be sure but he knew that wasn't what John wanted to hear and really he hoped John knew all of those things already.

"John, you are truly a captain in every sense of the word. I have been thoroughly beat by you; I won't be able to walk straight for days. Not that I was ever really straight to begin with…" Sherlock said with some humor.

John's eyes met Sherlock's for a moment and held them; Sherlock could see the seriousness there and knew John understand all those things that he wasn't saying. A moment later he gave a smug, satisfied smile. "Can I get that in writing? John said, looking too pleased with himself. Sherlock didn't even care for once to give John and ego boost; he deserved it.

"Don't push it" Sherlock said with a smile, squeezing John's hand hard before drifting off to sleep.

 _They all finally did the deed! Yippee! :) Hope you all enjoyed it!_


	25. Chapter 25

"You're doing it wrong!" Sherlock said, yanking the screws out of John's hands and attempting and failing to get the two wooden pieces to fit together the way they were supposed to.

"Oh, and you're doing it right?" John asked with an arched eyebrow, grinning with satisfaction as Sherlock failed to do it correctly either after having berated John for doing it wrong for a solid twenty minutes.

"Well, what do you expect when you don't use the instructions?" Sherlock asked irritably, sweat dotting his brow.

"You were the one that told me to throw them out!" John said, "I told you that was a bad idea. How do you expect to safely put together a crib without instructions?"

"Fine! Go fetch the instructions out of the rubbish bin" Sherlock looked mortified that he had to admit that he needed instructions.

"Ah…..so you admit, you need instructions? You can't figure it out with your superior intellect?" John asked cheekily. He knew he was enjoying himself entirely too much but he couldn't help it.

"Don't be a smart arse. Just get the instructions" Sherlock said, chucking a nearby plushy at John's head before he ducked out of the nursery to get the instructions from down stairs. Nursery…..it was hard for John to fully believe that the room that had been his own for years was now, in a matter of weeks, going to be his daughter's nursery.

As was usual these days, John felt the familiar stirring of nerves in his belly at impending parentage. Mary's due date was in two weeks and most of the time his mind was occupied in taking care of her and preparing for their soon be new arrival. Mary kept assuring him he would be a good father; oddly enough, Sherlock was right alongside her in her assurances. And that was what really calmed him; Sherlock couldn't be more assured about his ability to be a good parent than he was.

John fetched the crumpled instructions from the rubbish and went back up to the nursery to find Sherlock in his shirtsleeves, his face red from exertion as he tried to put the crib together and failing miserably. "Need this?" John asked with a smirk.

Sherlock was not amused. With a scowl he snatched the paper from John's hand and studied it.

"What am I doing wrong!?" Sherlock lamented, gesturing to the crib pieces, in the floor, rummaging through them on his knees on the floor.

"I don't know, but it is affording me a great view so I can't complain. Usually only one thing gets you on your knees, red and sweaty." John teased.

Sherlock turned around, very purposely not sticking his butt up in the air. "Oh, be a grown up, John." He said, looking annoyed but his pupils seemed larger than normal and if he hadn't so many times told John that indicated desire John would have looked right past it.

"I am…I am VERY grown up" John said with a smirk. Sherlock threw another plushy at John before proceeding to consult the crib instructions again.

Things were crazy and unpredictable in their new life in 221B but John wouldn't have it any other way. It had been a few months since they had all began to test their relationship and John still marveled at how it blossomed. Sherlock and John had no shortage of cases; they even had to turn some people down, especially now that Mary was grown to the point of being painfully pregnant. Work was dangerous and glorious as it always had been and though mostly Sherlock was in strict 'case mode' while on a case which meant he thought of nothing other than the work and that was fine; John loved the danger and thrill of it. Though, he was happy that they had had a few chances to have some on the side trysts which John couldn't think of without growing hot still.

Domestic life was bliss, true bliss, John would call it. He and Sherlock still bickered like little boys but they always had and it was just part of their personalities toward each other. Sherlock and Mary were still always sweet to each other; John still maintained that they were truly friends with benefits. They could be sweet and gentle with each other in bed and out of the bedroom they would watch crap telly and go out for brunch and shopping and all the silly girly things Mary liked to do and John couldn't believe Sherlock would do. John had to laugh about it; Sherlock was Mary's stereotypical 'gay best friend'.

Most surprising to John was how normal his and Mary's relationship had remained. He knew that bringing Sherlock into their intimacy was a big deal and was waiting for some earth shattering change to happen…..but it never did. There were plenty of moments they had with Sherlock and plenty of moments just he and Mary shared. They were both finally content with where they were at.

And, naturally, all activity now centered around the baby coming. Today, he and Sherlock were putting the last minute touches on the nursery, knowing that really any day now she could be here. Ironically, Mary was the calmest of them all; while John and Sherlock panicked about all the minor details and obsessed over what would happen when the baby did come, Mary remained cool and composed the entire time. She assured them that she would be fine, the baby would be fine and though they didn't believe her, THEY would be fine. John thought the verdict was still out on whether or not he would freak out completely when Mary went into labor.

After much cursing and even more sweating, John and Sherlock finally got the crib assembled.

"There….that looks good, even if we did have to consult the directions" John said, running a hand along the crib railing appraisingly.

"Not bad, once I figured it out" Sherlock said, clearly taking all of the credit for the job. "Now, all that's left is for you to get in"

"Get in where?" john asked in confusion.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You have to get in the crib and make sure it's structurally sound" he said as if John were completely ignorant. "You don't want the first time any one's put in here to be when you put your fragile newborn daughter in it."

"Sherlock, I am a grown man and I'm not getting in a crib. I'd surely break it anyway" John said.

"Actually cribs are made to withstand the weight of an adult so that parents can sleep with their children in them" Sherlock said in his know it all voice.

"Well, then why don't YOU try it out?" John said.

"You are much shorter than me and much more easily able to fit into it" Sherlock said, "Besides, you are the daddy"

"Yeah and you're the papa…..so, hop right in" John said gesturing toward the crib. John still had to laugh a bit at the name. After much deliberation and throwing out of Sherlock's ridiculous suggestions on what the baby would call him, he had finally accepted the name papa.

"Fine….I'll do everything" Sherlock said dramatically with a roll of his eyes.

John was rewarded with the hilarious sight of watching Sherlock's long, lanky frame climbing into the crib. After several long minuets of arraigning himself and his long legs inside the crib to John's laughter, Sherlock finally managed to get in. Putting his hands on his hips, his bravado ruined when he hit his elbows on the crib, Sherlock gave John a smug look. "There…I did it. See, you were just being a baby about it" he said ironically nestled into the crib.

John laughed behind his hand. "Ah, yes, I'm the baby even though you are the one in the crib" he joked.

"At least I cared enough to test that the crib is structurally sound" Sherlock said though his red cheeks said he was embarrassed.

"I'll give you that; stand up job" John said, trying to sound serious but he didn't last long before laughing as he patted Sherlock's head condescendingly from the crib.

"Well lookie there…what a cute baby" Mary commented, walking through the doorway carrying some shopping bags of last minuet items.

Sherlock blushed further and muttered something about 'structural integrity' as Mary walked over to him. She petted his hair and he leaned into the touch with a smile like a cat getting petted. "Aww…there's my beautiful little boy" Mary said affectionately, running fingers through his hair.

"Not me…I'm not your baby" Sherlock said though he was grinning too widely to be believed. He seemed to be quite content with the idea of being theirs. John was quite content with that idea as well. It was what had brought then all together; if Mary hadn't been able to fully recognize how much Sherlock needed them they wouldn't be where they were now. But John knew that as desperately as Sherlock needed them, John and Mary needed him just as much. They just hadn't ever had to face a reality where they didn't have him like Sherlock had.

"Oh, sure you are. Don't be silly" Mary said, rubbing Sherlock's head one last time before moving back over to the shopping bags she had brought in, to the obvious disappoint of Sherlock.

"You'll have to see what I got today. I ordered it special and it finally came in" Mary said with excitement as she rifled through the bags. Sherlock seemingly recognized how ridiculous he looked sitting in the crib now that Mary wasn't rubbing his hair and awkwardly climbed out.

"Isn't it perfect?" Mary asked as she pulled out a white infant bodysuit with pink lettering on it.

When John saw th _e_ words _My mummy and daddies love me_ written on it he had to laugh. It was perfect for their oddly perfect life. It was not conventional by any means but for them in was the only kind of life imaginable.

"That's great" John said when he stopped laughing. "God, can you imagine the looks we're going to get from her teacher one day when she goes to school?"

It was an offhand comment but as soon as John said it he realized the significance of it. Their relationship was still new and he was sure that perhaps they all felt that it was still on tentative and shaky ground. John's sudden comment implied that they were not only okay now but would be years from now. Years from now, they would still all be together. John could see the smile on Mary's face at the revelation and a greatly relieved look on Sherlock's face as if that confidence was just what he needed to assure him this would be alright.

"I'm sure we will manage it just fine" Sherlock said simply but there was a war of emotions on his eyes as he met John's. "We have faced much worse."

"Yeah, you're right" John agreed. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were all going to be just fine.

 _Well, that's it. THE END. Thank you so much for everyone who has read and reviewed this story. This has been my own personal favorite of all of my fics and I have enjoyed sharing it with everyone.  
_


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